Anderson's Thick Maple Honey
by BlaineWarbler
Summary: Kurt meets Blaine at a farmer's market in New York City, and soon Kurt is whisked away to a life he never would have imagined for himself. Lots of romance and angst.
1. Chapter 1

"_Anderson's Thick Maple Honey_?" Kurt read from the label. Finn grabbed the mason jar from his hand.

"It's mine. It's my honey. Get your own."

"Finn, you're acting like a two year old."

"Mine," Finn said, cradling the jar to his chest and glaring at Kurt distrustfully.

"Finn, I wasn't going to steal—"

"MMMMMMmmmmnn," Rachel said, walking up to the two brothers, her eyes screwed shut as she chewed her food in total ecstasy. In her hand were remnants of a slice of pastry bread with some sort of jam topping coating it. "Shooooo gewd," she said, swallowing. "You have to try this, Kurt!" Rachel exclaimed, trying to shove the bread into her best friend's mouth.

Kurt backed away. "Okay, there, crazy lady! Back up!" When Kurt was sure Rachel wasn't going to attack him with the bread again, he said, "What is going on with you two? I'm never taking you to a farmer's market again if you keep behaving like children."

"But Kurrrrt it tastes like happiness and sunshine and childhood and rainbows!" Rachel sighed.

Kurt put up a hand. "Stop right there. Explain your insanity."

"It's that stand over there," Finn said helpfully. Kurt turned to see the small but distinct wooden table, a small fabric canopy shielding it from the sun, though the last of the daylight had already moved behind the tall buildings on the street. "_Anderson Farms_—"

"—_Sweet Boutique_!" Rachel finished. "Isn't that a cute name, Kurt? Well, speaking of cute," she said softly, so as not to offend her boyfriend, "check out Honey Cutie Boy over there. Isn't he just _delicious_? I could just eat him up!"

"_Oh my god_, Rachel, stop talking before you do something seriously crazy. I swear all that sugar has addled your brain."

She swatted at him. "I'm serious! Go over there! They have their own tea blends, too!"

Kurt pursed his lips in thought. "I do like tea."

"Seriously Kurt, you should get something," Finn added. "It's like, really good and I'm not sharing."

.

.

.

Blaine looked up from his book when he heard the voices crowding around his table. He didn't much like the whole 'hawking your wares' portion of the business. He usually let people stroll by without fear of persecution when they wander on to the next booth. He knows how awkward that can be—a strained smile, an unsaid "sorry!" and then a scuttling off to view different wares. Might as well hang back, wait for the customer to actually have the product in their hands. Scrutinizing people's shopping habits was tiresome business, and Blaine didn't like it.

But when he heard the familiar squabble at the front, he recognized them immediately by type—the talky customers. Those are the ones he really didn't mind engaging with. Those were the ones that usually bought at least a little something, really only just there for the conversation and novelty of the event.

"Oooooh, this one! This one, Kurtie! _Lemon-Pepper Whimsy_."

"Kurt, try the samples, it's like the jam that mom makes, but better! They're over here—Oh. Don't tell her I said that, 'kay?"

"This one for sure! Smell it, Kurt!"

"Ugh, Rachel, I would, just stop shoving things in my face I don't—"

"Back already?" Blaine asked, a smile on his face, speaking to the tall man and petite dark-haired woman who not five minutes ago filled up a bag with his products.

The woman looked up and beamed at him. "Yes. And thank you for being so helpful before! There's just too many wonderfully delicious things to choose from!"

Blaine laughed—her enthusiasm was endearing. "It's no problem, really."

"Our friend would love to try something too. He's kind of shy so we had to drag him over!"

"Rachel!" a scorn-filled voice reprimanded. Blaine turned his attention to the person the petite woman was indicating, one arm wrapped tightly around one of his, as the man tried to free himself from her grasp.

When he got loose, the man looked at Blaine and—_oh_—he was blushing. The man's eyes quickly darted down to the table, and Blaine followed suit.

"Well, there's plenty of variety, as you said," Blaine said softly.

Somewhere in the conversation the tall man had wandered away, and now he was shouting from across the parking lot (filled, for the day, with farm-fresh vendors): "THEY'VE GOT BURGERS HERE!" The happiness in his voice was apparent.

"FINN I'M VEGAN!" she shrieked back. Blaine blinked and subtly rubbed his earlobe to clear out the ringing, but the other man caught the motion and gave him a quick knowing smirk. Blaine smiled in response, but the man bit his lip and turned his attention back to his friends, who were still hurling their conversation over the heads of other patrons.

"Y—YEAH, I KNEW THAT! YEAH! I JUST—"

"FINN! DID YOU FORGET I DON'T EAT MEAT?! WHY WOULD I COME OVER THERE I—"

"_Oh my god_, I can't take you guys anywhere! Stop it, you're embarrassing yourself," the man whispered to her, loud enough for Blaine to overhear.

The woman shut up immediately and gave her friend a cool look. "Well," she said evenly. "I am going to retrieve my man from the meat den, and I will see you at the car in fifteen. Obviously being around all this food is making Finn hungry and we need to get to a proper establishment, STAT."

The man—Kurt—nodded, not really listening. He waved her on. "Just—go."

When she took off in the direction of her boyfriend, however, it was too silent at the table.

"So…" Blaine said.

"So."

Blaine shrugged. "Friends?"

Kurt sighed. "Unfortunately, _that_ is my brother and _that_, unfortunately again, is my best friend." He said, pointing them out as if they needed identification after their very public display.

Blaine drew in a breath in mock-pain. "That's a rough hand you've been dealt."

"Apparently I suffer fools. Not often, though—my brother is just visiting and he sort of brings out the crazy in my roommate."

"Roommate?"

"The shrieking brunette."

"Ah."

There was another silence, and the man was once again biting his lip, looking around, a bit _too_ interested in everything that was _not_ Blaine.

"I'm Blaine," he said, sticking out his hand.

"…Kurt," the man said with a small smile.

Blaine chuckled, looking down at the table. "I'll be honest, Kurt. You don't have to buy any of this stuff if you don't want. Please, don't feel obligated just because your friends dragged you over here and abandoned you."

Kurt's face fell. "Oh. _Oh_, no. I really—I…I heard there's some delicious stuff here—" his eyes shut momentarily, as if he had said something he wanted not to have said.

"Well, uh…" Blaine started. "I can tell you a little about the farm?"

"That would be…that would be great."

"Well, uh—I'm Blaine Anderson." He almost wanted to hit himself with how _stupid_ he sounded—introducing himself _right after he introduced himself_. He should have just started with his full name so he could have avoided saying it twice. And now this man Blaine was half-certain _was_ into him would think Blaine was a total idiot—

But Kurt's smile just widened at the admission. "Are you the owner's son or something?" he asked.

"Actually, I'm…_I'm_ the owner." Blaine admitted. "Well, I guess technically I'm half-owner. My 'partner' happens to be an idiot and so I run the majority of the operation. And by majority I mean all of it." He laughed.

Kurt laughed too, but his smile had fallen some. "So you…have a partner?"

"I guess technically I hav—NO! I mean…business partner, _YES_. I have a business partner. For _business_. I mean he does all the branding and shipping—or at least has people to take care of that—I'm on the farm most of the time and…yes, business partner. I don't…I'm not—"

"—gay," Kurt sighed.

"—in a relationship."

"_Oh_."

"I am gay. I mean…it doesn't matter, but…"

"Yes, of course, it doesn't matter."

Silence. But not an uncomfortable one. Kurt looked down at the table and bit down on the smile that was threatening to break across his face and reveal his true intentions. At least, Blaine _thought_ they were his true intentions, as he watched him from the corner of his eyes while he introduced Kurt to the various organic products on the table.

"Don't be caught up with labels, though," Blaine warned. "Pretty much any farm can be 'organic.' Of course our maple's organic, _technically_—we just tap the trees in winter. We don't have to spray with insecticide. Real maple is more expensive but only because it's just not sugar and water." Wow, where was all this word vomit coming from? Surely he's not interested in hearing Blaine's theories on Aunt Jemima—

"Ug, I hate the fake stuff. I never allow it in the apartment. But it always manages to sneak its way back in, I'm afraid." Kurt said with a smirk, leaning in conspiratorially. "Late night shopping sees some interesting things find their way into my shopping cart."

Either the action or the words or both had Blaine blushing, and he turned his head, pretending to grab at something while he willed his face to behave and not give him away.

"Yes, that…that happens, from time to time." He held up a mason jar. "The good stuff. Maple honey. 2 parts maple to 1 part honey."

"It sounds fantastic. And the name is very interesting…" Kurt trailed, reading again the "_Anderson's Thick Maple Honey_" on the label.

Blaine shook his head. "Yeah, yeah. It's kind of—"

"Suggestive?"

Blaine turned his head and quirked an eyebrow. "I was going to say _silly_, but…"

Kurt covered his face with his hands. "_Oh god_, nevermind…I didn't just say that."

Blaine grinned despite himself, but refrained from laughing. "No, it…it can be _suggestive _if you want…"

Kurt dropped his hands and studied Blaine for a moment, the faintest tinge of pink staining his cheeks. He smiled. "So, you're flirting with me. Is that what's happening here?"

"Uh…" Blaine said, "Well, yes," he said, proudly.

"You might just make a customer of me, yet, then."

Blaine's smile fell. "I'm not—no, don't think—I'm not trying to get you to _buy_ anything. Please don't think this is some sort of a ploy, I—I hate that nonsense. I don't like it."

"Blaine," Kurt said. Shivers ran down Blaine's spine at the sound of his own name on this man's lips—the man who was now looking at him straight in eye. "What would you suggest?"

It took Blaine a moment for his mind to work itself back to the items on the table. "Uh…oh! Let's see…there's…no…hmm. Aha! Yes!" He picked up a jar called "_Berry Delightful,_" a mix of strawberry and blueberry, with hints of mint and cherry. He explained it to Kurt, but the man was wrinkling his nose at the thought.

"It sounds delicious, _really_." Kurt said. "But perhaps something that doesn't sound like a contradiction. _Berry Delightful_…." Kurt caught himself. "I'm sorry. That didn't make sense to anyone but me. Forgive me." Kurt looked around the table, and picked up another, familiar, jar. "Why don't I stick to what I know? Or at least, what my brother was hording and refusing to share."

"Ah, the _suggestive_ one."

"I can't _wait_ to pour it all over my pancakesWOW I AM JUST NOT GOING TO TALK ANYMORE."

Blaine had started cracking up, leaning on the table for support. "It wasn't that bad," he promised through his laughter that had tears pinching the corner of his eyes.

"No," Kurt moaned. "It was bad. The words weren't bad but how I said it,_ that was bad_. That was very bad. And now I'm just going to hand you some money and run away and hide forever."

Kurt wasn't joking. He was trying to hand Blaine some money without looking at him. He was smiling, but it was only to save face. His skin was red with embarrassment and it did seem as if the moment the money left his hand he was going to disappear into the crowd.

"No!" Blaine said, wincing when he heard the force of his exclamation. "I mean…yes, go if you'd like…but…don't run away." Blaine looked at Kurt and slowly and carefully took the money from his hand when he was sure Kurt wasn't going to dash away. "Really, stay. I kind of like you."

"So you don't think I'm the most ridiculous person you've ever met?" Kurt asked, hopeful.

"Unfortunately _my_ brother has already filled that position."

"Oh? So we share a similar pain." Kurt grinned.

As if on cue, loud voices again began to cut through the crowds of the farmer's market.

"KURT! WE'VE GOT TO GO!" Rachel called out from across the lot. "FINN JUST TRIED TO EAT A RAW POTATO!"

"IT WASN'T THAT BAD! AND I WAS JUST TESTING IT!"

"Finn, stop talking, you're going to hurt yourself!"

"Stop treating me like I'm a baby! I can try new things!"

"It was a RAW. POTATO. FINN."

"I had better go," Kurt said, apologizing. "Before more blood is spilled this day."

"Please go and prevent this massacre," Blaine laughed.

Kurt cast one more fleeting look at Blaine before turning and rushing over to his arguing friends. Blaine watched him leave with regret soaking into his bones.

Blaine should have given Kurt his business card, his phone number. A free sample, at least. But he had missed his chance. He watched as Kurt and his friends walked to the edge of the lot toward the street.

Just then Kurt paused and held up a finger to his two companions, and turned to dart back over to Blaine's booth. Blaine watched him as he ran—skinny jeans and decorative scarf billowing in the warm September breeze. Kurt's face happy and nervous as he reached the table and, breathing deeply, set a piece of paper down upon it, giving Blaine one lasting look that—_good lord!—_reached down to that part of Blaine he was afraid to acknowledge in public, and then Kurt was off again across the lot, going, going, and gone.

Blaine picked up the piece of paper and in a neat but hurried scrawl there was written the words "Kurt" and a New York number just below. Blaine grinned from ear to ear. It was a good day at the market.

.

.

.

It had been three days.

THREE. DAYS.

Maybe he was busy?

Yes, Kurt thought. Of course he was busy. Too busy to call a stupid boy and ask him out.

"Oh please just call me already and ask me out," Kurt pleaded with his silent phone. "Just—please. Do something. _Anything_."

Kurt's phone nearly leaped off the table, vibrating. Kurt caught it and held it to his ear. "Blaine?"

"Who's Blaine?"

"Rachel, you—you live fifteen feet away, can't you just knock on my door like a normal person?"

"It's _five_, I'm not _at_ home, I'm at the theater."

Five pm already? Where had the day gone? Kurt looked over at his desk and furrowed his brows at the mound of papers sitting there—pages he was supposed to have looked over and approved by tomorrow for work, designs he was supposed to be sketching up late into the night. Just because his time at art school was over did _not_ mean he was going to take it easy. Now was the time to be vigorous and relentless and follow his dreams. He was supposed to be throwing everything he had into his creations.

He was supposed to not be thinking about a certain raven-headed, amber-eyed farmer boy.

But of course, that's where his mind went anyway.

Rachel asked him if he was cooking dinner tonight, and what he would be making if he was, or should she get takeout? Kurt told her he was (he needed to do _something_ at least that would take his mind off of Blaine), and that he would be making breakfast for dinner (because it at least sounded easy).

After finishing up the last of the pancakes on the stove, he put them all on a plate and heated the oven just enough to keep them warm while he prepared the tofu scramble substitute for eggs which—Kurt admitted—tasted pretty decent with the right seasonings.

As the tofu fried in the pan, he riffled through the pantry. He came across some of Rachel's purchases from the other day at the farmer's market. Of course, some jars of Anderson Farms products were there.

Kurt turned the heat off the stove and moved back into his room, picking up the jar of "_Anderson's Thick Maple Honey" _and turning it over in his hands like it was a curious artifact from another world. He bit his lip. _Why won't you just call me?_

Maybe Blaine didn't like him as much as Kurt had hastily assumed. Perhaps Kurt was cute enough to flirt with, but he definitely ruined it with his bouts of idiocy.

Kurt sighed and fell on his bed, not feeling much like eating. He turned over onto his stomach and stared at the jar again, and unscrewing the top when the jar wasn't giving him the answers he wanted.

Kurt dipped a finger into the pool of thick liquid contained within. He brought it to his lips and his eyes went wide.

He hadn't had the chance to taste it before, but now that he had tasted it—_wow_, no wonder Finn didn't want to share!

Kurt sucked the sweetness off his finger and luxuriated in the taste filling his mouth. It was almost sinfully good. Kurt looked bitterly over at his phone. "Now you _really_ have to call me," he said. "But even if you do, I'm not going easy on you."

Kurt polished off what he managed to collect on his finger and went in for seconds.

.

.

.

An incoming message.

_Sorry it took me so long. If I were less of a coward I would call._

_Sorry. This is Blaine. You don't have my number. I guess I just figured you don't have many gentleman callers._

_Not that having guys call you is a bad thing! Or—I don't mean to imply that you DON'T have guys calling you either. I just…_

_…Have I ruined everything yet?_

**Not everything. ;)**

_Well…good!_

**I'm glad you called. Well, texted.**

_You are?_

**Mm-hm.**

**I wanted to tell you just how good your syrup is.**

_I'm pleased to hear that! Did you end up putting it on your pancakes?_

**No.**

**I've been licking your thick maple honey off my finger for the past hour.**

**It tastes so good.**

_Wow, okay._

**Am I being inappropriate?**

_Well, it's a lot past flirty for strangers, but I'm not objecting…_

**You kept me waiting. I got no work done these past few days. So now I don't care if I scare you away—you deserve it.**

_I don't know what I deserve, but if this is you trying to scare me away…_

_I can tell you it's having the opposite effect._

_._

_._

_._

That night Kurt had used up the rest of his small jar of syrup on his pancakes.

**I'm out. When's the next farmer's market?**

_Next season._

Kurt frowned at his phone, until a new message appeared beneath it.

_Come up to the farm._

**Really?**

_Sure. Whenever you have time off, I'll be here._

**I don't have time off for a while—Christmas week and the week after. That's all till spring. :(**

_:(_

_That IS sad._

_But winter isn't a bad time to visit. It's tree-tapping season in Vermont. Fresh maple!_

**Is that where you are? Vermont?**

_Yes. It's like a little slice of paradise._

**I'll stick to my skyscrapers and sidewalks and civilization.**

_No need for those when you have the green mountains and fresh air and poetry._

**Blaine? It sounds wonderful. I would really, really like to visit.**

_I also would also like you to visit. Obviously._

_._

_._

_._

_._

"I'm r-really hoping you don't m-murder me," Kurt said through chattering teeth.

"Well, that depends. Does anyone know you're here? Do you think you'll die of hypothermia first?" Blaine joked, leading Kurt into the mudroom where he could disrobe the very fashionable and very insufficient coat he had donned to weather the Vermont winter. His boots, at least, had held up fine, though now Kurt insisted he not take them off. "I know you're cold, but I've got nice wood floors—they're quite warm from the fire."

"You've got a fire going?" Kurt asked, slipping out of his shoes.

"Constantly. A wood-stove. That's how I heat this place."

"Like, for cooking?" he said, straightening up and brushing the snow off his pants.

"No, for seriously heating the house. Though we do have a big wood fire off the main house for making the syrup."

"But this place is so big! And that sounds so medieval!"

Blaine laughed and watched Kurt undo the many buckles on his coat, unsure whether or not he should be helping. This was the first time he had seen Kurt since they first met. Aside from texting and the occasional awkward phone call (though those always did lead to conversations that would last long into the night and through till morning), it still felt strange being around each other. And they didn't know why. "You'll need something warmer than that when we go out tree-tapping."

"Who says I'm leaving this house for the week? It's freezing outside!" Kurt said, hanging up his coat on a peg and bringing his arms around his body to massage heat back into his arms. Blaine moved close and put his hands on Kurt's arms, mimicking the motion.

"You know, usually from you that comment would be an exaggeration, but it literally _is_freezing outside—way below freezing, in fact." His voice was so low and so close that Kurt let out a shuddering breath that had nothing to do with the weather. "But, it's Vermont and it's winter and it's 11pm, so what do you expect?" His hands stopped rubbing Kurt's arms. They rested on his shoulders as Blaine looked up at him and asked, "Warm enough yet?"

"Mhm," Kurt responded dreamily. "And…I'm sorry I'm so late getting in. Damn Amtrak."

"It's the storm moving in, don't blame it on the trains."

"It was nice to see your face when I got off, though."

"_Yes_," Blaine said through shut eyes, his frame rocking with laughter.

Kurt blushed and swatted at him. "You know what I meant!"

Blaine was still giggling helplessly as he grabbed Kurt's hand and said through tears, "let me show you around. Feel free to keep the innuendo _coming_, as it were."

"You, sir, are infuriating. And totally _not funny _in the slightest."

"Oh, you love me," Blaine said offhandedly as they walked into the large living room. They moved past into the kitchen, everything beautiful dark wood and carved as if by hand. Nothing looked as if it had just come off a showroom floor, except maybe the modern appliances. Beautiful glassware and plates and bowls with manifold designs were piled in the floating glass cabinets above the island table off to the side of the kitchen, where tall backed stools stood. Baskets of dried fruit and fresh blocks of chocolate and nuts hung from the ceiling from hooks and beautiful rope. Just beyond the kitchen and before the staircase to the second floor was a small dining table and two chairs in a sitting area around a fireplace, where a fire was busy feeding away at the wood. Just off to the side of the kitchen and eating area, large glass doors led the way to a spacious sun-nook room. The room was encased with thick glass and looked over a large pond in the distance, the land sloping away and down into the rest of the property below.

At least, that's what Blaine told him as he was showing Kurt around. Everything was pitch black now, and there were no lights outside to show him these scenes. Everything was so dark here, without the constant city lights swirling.

"Doesn't it get cold in winter?" he asked, indicating the sun-room.

"A bit. Not too much though, actually. The sun comes in and it's sort of a greenhouse—see, the plants love it in there—and it retains the warmth from the sun. We can hang out there in the afternoon tomorrow after we go tree-tapping, if the weather complies. It should be nice and toasty by then."

"You are really insistent on making sure I get my clothes ruined on this trip, aren't you? DON'T LAUGH, I meant with the tree-tapping! The sap…_stop laughing!_"

Blaine had showed Kurt to his room on the bottom floor, which held the main wood stove for the house and a bathroom and a door to the outside that lead to a large pile of wood Blaine used for the fires. Blaine said the temperature would be very warm at night, but there was not much he could do to regulate the temperature, since it funneled heat throughout the house. "You might not even need the sheets," he had said. He apologized in advance for having to come downstairs at 5:30 tomorrow morning, opening the door and letting the cool in, just so he could remake the fire and allow the heat that had burnt out to flame back up again and make it hot and uncomfortable.

"Is there a more temperature-controlled room in the house?" Kurt had asked, intending his question to be more curious than hopeful.

"The master bedroom, upstairs. We could switch? I'd be fine with that." Blaine said, worried now that asking Kurt to stay was a mistake on his part. He wanted to make this trip special for Kurt, but now it seemed like a big imposition.

"No, no! I'm fine. Let's just…see how the night goes."

Later, Blaine insisted Kurt switch, after he showed Kurt around upstairs and Kurt saw the master bedroom—a wide, expansive room with no door. It would look like a very large sitting area if it weren't for the large bed in the center of the room, looking forward at two very tall glass doors leading onto a deck. A little light on the deck illumed two large birdfeeders.

Above the bed the ceiling seemed to tower above them, polished rafters and a staircase behind the bed revealed another tall nook, like an indoor deck where plants lived, hanging over the wooden rafters and giving the appearance of a well-kept jungle. "The rising heat and the window right there make it a good spot for them," Blaine mentioned. Kurt thought it looked like heaven.

The master bathroom made Kurt nearly swoon. Who knew such luxury could be found out in the country? A very large tub that easily fit two, maybe a small family—and jets! "My brother insisted when he was designing the house and thought he would be spending a lot of time here. It wasn't a bad idea, though—working outside all day and coming back to a jet back massage is a very, very good idea."

Fairy lights encased in clear tubing clung to the corners in the small room, and when Blaine shut off the main light and flicked the small lights on, against the dark wood the room was transformed into a spa. "Imagine it also with candles and the jets going, and music playing. It's very relaxing."

"I can imagine," Kurt said with a happy smile. "Can this be part of my vacation, too?"

"Absolutely! In fact, I insist."

Kurt didn't sleep well that night.

Sure, the bed was incredibly comfortable, but at first it was just way too hot to fall asleep. Kurt had poked around on the bookshelves, unable to sleep, and pulled out a book of poetry (there were several), and began to read. Soon, the dry heat from the room and the late hour made Kurt unable to resist sleep, and he passed out on top of the covers with no shirt and pajama pants rolled up to the knees.

He felt absolutely _freezing_ when he woke up. That's all he could understand about the situation—cold and _dark_. It was still dark outside, the room barely any lighter than it had been last night with the fire going.

He felt a cold breeze over his back, heard wood falling to the ground close to the wood stove. A door was pulled shut, and Kurt felt cool covers wrap over his body. He relaxed into them as they warmed. He listened to the crack of a fire coming back to life, the clink of the metal door swinging closed, the plodding of feet back up the staircase to the first floor.

In the early morning he finally fell into a blissful sleep, and awoke only when it began to get too hot again, the room filling up with dry heat.

Kurt spent a good portion of his morning attempting to look presentable. The shower wasn't up to par—it was nice, but not what he needed. His eyes felt dry from the heat, and his hair certainly wasn't cooperating. He sighed into the mirror, rubbing lotion into his skin and preparing himself for the day and whatever it might bring.

He dressed in a pair of tight jeans and a loose open-necked sweater over a stretchy long-sleeved black undershirt, and decided to leave well enough alone as he walked up the stairs to hear the pop and sizzle and smell breakfast in the air.

"I was about to wake you up," Blaine said, turning away from the stove. "It's almost noon."

"Am I being reprimanded?" Kurt said playfully.

Blaine looked at him fondly, with a smile on his face, but it fell quickly. "You didn't sleep well, did you?"

Kurt almost touched his face. He didn't _think_ he looked that bad… "I slept fine," he said.

"It's too hot down there at night. Sleep upstairs. I've slept downstairs before, I'm used to it," Blaine said, sliding whatever he was cooking from his pan onto a large plate.

But Kurt shook is head. "I'm not throwing you out of your own bed, that's ridiculous. Stop being ridiculous."

"Come and eat something," Blaine said. "We'll argue about it on a full stomach."

Kurt bit his lip but walked over to the table in the sitting area by the fire. Eggs, toast, jam, juice, coffee, muffins… "No pancakes?" Kurt said with a smirk.

"Maybe tomorrow. I wanted something a little lighter today—"

"_This_ is light? I'd hate to see what heavy looks like."

Blaine laughed. "It takes a lot of energy to get going in winter. Especially getting through the snow. Speaking of which…I have a pair of snowshoes ready for you."

"Snow _what?_"

"I told you about snowshoes. Over the phone, remember? We're going snowshoeing. Think badminton rackets, but on the bottom of your shoes. You use them to stay above the snow. Like Legolas."

"Of _course_, I'm stuck in the middle of nowhere with the guy who willingly uses _Lord of The Rings_ references."

"But of course. You expected anything less?"

"Well, I used to be obsessed with Harry Potter as a kid, and I still have a love/hate relationship with Twilight—or at least Tyler Lautner—so, we're even."

"Did you just try to compare Tokien to Stephanie Meyer? _Blasphemer_."

Kurt wanted to laugh, but he didn't fancy choking on his blueberry muffin. "These are delicious," he said after swallowing a bite. "Where did you get them?"

"I made them. So, thank you for the compliment."

"With out of season blueberries? Did you travel the half an hour to the grocery store?"

"I have a very small off-season greenhouse. I just use it for me, when I want something fresh in the middle of winter. It never tastes quite the same, but it beats coming from a plastic container."

"I would love to see the greenhouse."

"Absolutely. Later this week, when the snow melts a bit, I'll take you down there."

Snowshoeing to their tree-tapping destination had turned out to be an excellent idea. The drifts during the night had made the piles of snow in their path nearly unendurable with just boots. After they walked across the frozen pond covered with feet of snow (Blaine had to convince Kurt that, yes, it was completely safe and everything was definitely frozen and that he would not fall through), and through a small clearing, they arrived at a gathering of trees that had pipes and buckets attached at their middles where the sun hit the trees.

The sun was high in the sky, but starting to slowly descend in the early afternoon. Blaine had held Kurt's hand as the other man tried to not look so awkward in the strange shoes that were not fashionable in the slightest but _damn_, were they warm!

Kurt was lead to a tree that had not been tapped yet, just a row behind some of the others in front. "Let's try this one," Blaine had said, taking out some tools and showing Kurt how to use the tools he bought to drill into the center of the tree. "Great, it's wet. That's a good sign. Let's get the collecting bucket affixed." Kurt felt dumb, feeling he had not much to contribute, but nonetheless he enjoyed watching Blaine work.

Blaine made a crude snowman in one of the snowbanks while they waited for the bucket to fill. "He's too tall and he has no features," Kurt criticized.

"I forgot to bring my carrot and my coals for eyes, but perhaps I can carve out his face?"

"It's too cold for that. Your gloves must already be soaking wet."

"C'mon, Kurt. Play with me. We'll warm up together later."

"If that isn't the most suggestive thing I've heard this whole trip, I'll be damned," Kurt muttered and walked over to where Blaine was carefully constructing features from a block of snow.

"How did you do that so quickly?" Kurt asked, astonished. Blaine had squared off Frosty's shoulders and gave him a neck, and flattened down the planes of his face.

"I'm still working on it. Give me a sec. And stand over there?"

"I thought I was supposed to 'play with you'?" He asked with a grin.

"I changed my mind."

"Well that was quick."

"I just have a good idea. Stand there, look at me a moment?"

It was too cold and the wind stung too much to stand in one place for too long, but soon enough Blaine was calling him back over to the snowman. Kurt gasped.

"If I had more time, I could probably do better."

"We can't just leave him out here! He'll melt!" Kurt sighed.

Blaine shrugged. "Such is life. Ephemeral." Kurt swatted at him.

"Why didn't you tell me you could do this?" Kurt asked, staring at the snowy sculpture of himself. Blaine shrugged again.

"I _might_ have taken some art classes in college, before I dropped out of my pre-law program altogether."

Kurt looked at Blaine, who smiled sheepishly back at him and Kurt's astonished expression. "Blaine Anderson, you are just full of surprises, aren't you?"

Blaine brushed some loose snow from snowman Kurt's shoulder absently. "Let's grab our bucket. I still need to show you how I evaporate the sap."

As the afternoon wended its way into early evening, Blaine did bring Kurt into the sun room just as the sun was setting. "We should have gotten here earlier."

"It's still nice," Kurt had insisted.

They sipped from mugs of cocoa sweetened with maple. Kurt had been hesitant but Blaine had assured him that the only way to sweeten anything in Vermont was with maple, and Kurt didn't want to miss out on the experience.

They sat on a comfortable old couch and listened to the wind move against the sides of the house. Kurt shivered at the mere sound, and Blaine moved closer to put an arm around him. "Is this okay?"

"Mug of cocoa, relaxing on a couch with no work to do, a cute boy asking me if it's alright if he sneaks a cuddle. You know what? I am in absolute misery."

Blaine chuckled softly, taking the hint and pressing the side of his body against Kurt's. "Tell me if it gets too warm."

"Will do," Kurt said into his cocoa, trying to hide his face now flushed with red.

"Have you thought about your sleeping arrangements tonight?" Blaine asked, turned into Kurt, his hot breath close to his ear made warmer by the cocoa.

"Not sure," Kurt said evenly, rubbing his thumb on the edge of his mug and sighing, staring off into the twilight.

Blaine carefully placed his mug on the low table in front of them, and moved to remove Kurt's from his hands with a small smile, placing it next to his own cup.

"I wasn't finished with that," Kurt said softly, barely a whisper.

"We can make more later," Blaine said, his eyes darted from Kurt's own silver-blue ones to Kurt's lips, full and red and warmed from the drink.

It was Kurt who moved first, though, instantly taking Blaine's lips in a forceful kiss, his hand coming up to cup the side of Blaine's face as he leaned into him desperately. Blaine felt as if he were sucking Kurt's lips raw with the amount of want coursing through his body. They had already known each other for three months, but those three months had felt like a lifetime. It had scared them both into keeping each other at a distance, but now there was nothing to do but hold on tight to one another and survive another cold winter night. They both had seen too many of those to care for. They didn't want to lose this.

Kurt moved back onto the couch, grabbing at Blaine's shirt and pulling him down on top of him. Kurt's lips trailed off to kiss Blaine's jaw, his chin, his neck. Blaine groaned in frustration. "No," he whispered, "please just kiss me."

It was so frantic and desperate, Blaine's hands gripped at Kurt's shoulder and waist, lifting Kurt's shirt enough to thumb at his hipbone that was beginning to thrust madly up into Blaine's, wanting friction, their mouths colliding again and again, teeth scraping teeth, as night descended.

"I'm sorry…I'm sorry…" Kurt was saying, unable to keep his hips from moving against Blaine's, his fingers bruising Blaine's arms through his shirt, looking as if he was holding on for dear life.

"I'm not holding you down," Blaine said, fearing his actions might have been misconstrued. "I just can't—it's a little _too much_ right now," he laughed against Kurt's lips, moving his hips up against Kurt just once to indicate how serious the problem was. "I think we should break for dinner," he whispered.

"I don't need dinner. Let's keep going," Kurt said quickly, face flushed and voice hoarse, his lips recapturing Blaine's, biting his lip and gently pulling him back down. Blaine laughed again.

"You're too…you're _perfect_, Kurt," he said, breaking away from Kurt's lips, as much as it pained him to do so. "But we have _all week_ to _keep going_."

Kurt's eyes rolled back as he groaned and jutted his hips back up into Blaine. He whimpered softly, "You are terrible. You are the _worst_."

"Aw, but you love me anyway."

Kurt looked into Blaine's beautiful, expressive amber eyes and sighed contentedly.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Poetry from this chapter on will come from Mr. Pablo Neruda, translated-of course, with some pronouns switched out.

* * *

After dinner Blaine had insisted he wash the dishes in the sink before they pile up. "Why don't you go bring your suitcase upstairs?" Blaine suggested.

"Oh? So now I'm sleeping upstairs?" Kurt asked, clearing the table, a smug smile on his lips. He walked to where Blaine was facing the sink, turning on the tap, and innocently pressed his leg against Blaine's.

"Yes," Blaine nearly groaned. "It's not a problem, I'll take the other room," he said, not looking over at Kurt. The other man frowned, and deposited the dishes silently in the sink for Blaine to wash. _We'll see about that_, he thought.

Later, Blaine had shown Kurt where he could put his clothes in some of the empty drawers. "When did you clear this space for me?" Kurt asked.

"It was cleared before you arrived. There was nothing in it."

"Wow. Depressing. As a guy who works intimately with clothes, this empty drawer makes me quite sad." Blaine came around beside him and put an arm around his shoulders.

"Well, it won't be empty for very long, and you won't have to be sad for a whole week."

Kurt turned to Blaine. "I'm having a great time, you know."

"I know."

"What now?" Kurt said softly.

"Would you like to watch a movie?"

"That sounds perfect," Kurt whispered, knowing full well he wasn't going to waste the night watching a movie.

Sure enough, when the lights dimmed and Blaine started up the movie, leaning back on the headboard and throwing an arm around Kurt, before the opening credits were finished blinking along the bottom of the screen, Kurt had begun to trace his finger in a small oval pattern up and down Blaine's thigh. Too soon, Blaine found it hard to concentrate on the movie as he buried his head in the crook of Kurt's neck, breathing him in and lightly nipping at the skin along his collar bone.

"_Blaine_," Kurt whined. "Just kiss me." And he did.

.

.

.

"Don't just stand there," Blaine laughed. "Take off your coat! Can't you feel the warmth?"

"This is crazy. It's so cold outside—the outside I can _still see,_" Kurt said, shaking his head at the walls of paneled glass stretching up around them at every angle, the sun overhead reaching down into the greenhouse and soaking their bones with warmth. All around them were rows of plant life, green and more green, wondrously impossible and beautiful.

Blaine helped Kurt out of his coat, and told him to take off his shoes as well. "The ground's warm too, you'll see."

They sat in between the flowers and the fruits growing at either side, and Blaine searched the greenery for something. He leaned over into one of the patches of fruit and was pleased to find two beautiful strawberries ripened there. "I've been waiting for these all week," Blaine said happily. He picked them and dusted them off, putting them in his lap. "Close your eyes."

When Kurt did as Blaine asked, he felt the ripe fruit pushing at his lips. "_Open_," Blaine said, his voice sounding a bit labored. Kurt did, biting down on the warm sweetness.

When the juice dribbled from his mouth Blaine moved in and captured it, sucking the strawberry flavor off Kurt's chin.

Kurt breathed in deep, felt the warmth enter his body along with the heady scent of green, feeling dazed and happy at the same time. "I think I'm dreaming," Kurt whispered, not opening his eyes.

Blaine said nothing, but responded with an impassioned kiss, throwing his arms around Kurt and pulling him to lie on top of him, kissing the sweetness from his lips as they went down. "Make love to me?" he asked, whispering against Kurt's skin.

Kurt shivered, and for the life of him he couldn't find Blaine's words amusing or silly—he always thought it sounded forced and ridiculous when someone said _make love to me_. Whenever he heard it in a movie or in a particularly bad book he would just laugh because _who would even say that_? But now he found those words so laden with truth, with beauty, with raw _passion_, that he _couldn't_ laugh at it.

As if reading his mind, Blaine closed his eyes and laughed, gripping Kurt's waist against his. "I don't care if it sounds ridiculous, I just need you."

Kurt tried very hard to keep his heart from stopping altogether. "B-but this place is like,_made_ of windows, Blaine—"

"There's no one around for miles," Blaine groaned. "Fuck me into the _ground_, Kurt."

And, well, _that _did it. They both had their clothes off in a matter of seconds.

"I never would have expected this request from such a gentleman."

"After last night you _still_ think I'm a gentleman?" Blaine asked, and Kurt's brain conjured the memory of skin on skin, their bodies rutting together helplessly until Blaine had gone down on him, making Kurt moan out his name over, and over, and over…

"I should say so, you got me off twice and didn't ask me to return the favor. I would have been hurt if I wasn't so damn exhausted."

"I put you to bed happy," Blaine said, pushing down on Kurt's hips and letting their bodies slide against each other, chest to chest. "You can return the favor now."

"I would, but don't have anything…I didn't bring anything—"

Blaine laughed. "I like how you thought about that _after_ you took your clothes off."

"I got excited," Kurt said, shrugging.

"I can see that," Blaine agreed. "My jacket pocket—"

Kurt was already reaching over and grabbing at the contents of the coat—a bottle of lube and a condom. "You come prepared."

"You need to stop with the innuendo unless I'm supposed to be laughing right now."

Kurt leaned in and captured Blaine's lips, tasting the sweetness still lingering there. "I like when you laugh. It makes me happy."

Blaine willed his heart not to flutter violently like a moth beating against a light bulb, but in that moment he knew he would do anything to make Kurt happy. Kurt was a light in the deepest depths of darkness, and Blaine knew it.

"Should I?" Kurt asked, kissing Blaine again—sweetly this time. Patient.

"Oh, wow, yes—if you want to."

"I want to," Kurt said, taking the bottle of lube and rubbing the substance onto his fingers. He raised Blaine's legs so they sat over his shoulders. For a second, Kurt just marveled. It had been so dark last night, in the bed with just the flickering light of the television, and they were both so tired from the day. Now, in the blinding light of day, everything was open and exposed and vulnerable.

Kurt rubbed Blaine's puckered hold and watched as Blaine melted into the ground, sighing. "_God, Blaine_…" Kurt grunted as he pushed one long finger in, then another, working him open, Blaine keening beneath him.

"_Now,_ please, I'm good, I'm ready," Blaine groaned, breathless.

Kurt pushed in slowly, content to watch Blaine fall apart beneath him as he did so, Blaine's mouth open as he took Kurt in inch by inch. "_Blaine_," Kurt could only manage to say as he bottomed out, his fingers digging into Blaine's thighs, anchoring him in place.

"God, Kurt, just _move,_" Blaine said, and Kurt could feel the muscles contracting around him. He pushed slowly out, then in. Slow, measured. "More. Faster."

"Bossy pants," Kurt laughed, but the feeling of his quickened slide back into Blaine made him shutter. "_Jesus_…" he whispered.

"I thought…my name was Bossy—_ungh_—Pants?"

"You get—_ah_, a reprieve. You are now the s-savior of civilization."

"And you're—_ahhnn_, so beautiful, Kurt. The sunlight—_fuck_! YES. PLEASE. AGAIN." Kurt laughed.

"You-don't-have-to-flatter," Kurt said, punctuating his words with short thrusts into Blaine's ass, hitting his prostate repeatedly. "I'm already fucking you." He paused for a moment so Blaine could catch his breath. "Were you saying something about how the sunlight looked on my skin?

"'Read my mind," Blaine breathed. "Angel. You're an angel."

"An angel fucking Jesus? Now who's the blasphemer?"

Blaine smiled. "Keep going. I can still feel my toes."

Blaine came first, as Kurt returned the favor from the night before, stroking Blaine as evenly as he could while slamming into Blaine as hard as he wanted. When Kurt was about to come and mentioned so, Blaine leaned up on his elbows and whispered, "just kiss me, Kurt." And he did.

.

.

.

"Kurt, quick! Come here!" Blaine called. It's twilight now, but they could still see outside. Kurt rushed from the other room.

"What? What?"

"Bet you never get to see this in the city!" Blaine said happily, as if seeing deer crossing his property was something entirely new he was experiencing for the first time.

Kurt smiled at the sight—both of the deer, and Blaine's ecstatic expression. They both warmed his heart immeasurably.

"You're right, deer walking around New York City is an oddity, unless we're watching _I Am Legend_."

Blaine turned to look at him, grinning. "I thought you were deathly afraid of vampires."

Kurt swatted his shoulder. "I told you not to say the v-word! And I only saw the trailer, and that was enough for me."

"It was pretty scary, but it wasn't _30 Days of Night_ scary."

"PLEASE, let's _not_ talk about this. Preferably _ever_. I regret opening this can of worms."

Blaine reached out and touched the silky-smooth fabric of Kurt's robe. "Nice. Very chic. Are you ready for bath time?"

"Bath time? Are you a _child_, Blaine?"

"It is a sacred time. It has a sacred name."

Kurt covered his smiling mouth with his hand. "You're ridiculous."

"But you love me."

Kurt bit his lip and swayed his shoulders for a moment. He leaned over and gave Blaine a peck on the cheek, leaving his lips there for a long moment that felt like an eternity to Blaine. When he pulled away, Blaine saw something in Kurt's eyes, something Kurt was allowing him to see fully for the first time. A handful of times since Kurt arrived at the farm, he had been given a similar look. But this—this seemed new.

Kurt took his hand and led Blaine into the bathroom. "The water's ready," he said.

.

.

.

"I love jets. Every future bathtub I'm in for the rest of my life_ must_ have jets. This is a new prerequisite," Kurt purred, happily letting the powerful stream of bubbles pelt at the muscles in his back and arms.

"Want to switch?" Blaine asked, leaning up against Kurt's chest. He didn't really want to switch, he felt way too comfortable for that. But, moreover, he felt safe and cared for in Kurt's arms, which were wrapped closely along his torso, teasing his skin with a tickle now and again.

"Mmm, I suppose. But if you're comfortable there, you should stay."

"How do you read my mind?" Blaine asked, turning around to look at Kurt.

Kurt laughed. "You are so adorable," he cooed.

Blaine frowned. "I think the hot water and the alcohol has made you tired. And silly. Don't get too tired, please, or we'll never make it to midnight and I planned a showing of _When Harry Met Sally_."

"Ah, the perfect New Years movie," Kurt said, taking another sip of his champagne.

"But of course," Blaine said with a smile. Kurt had suggested red wine for the "sacred" bath time, but Blaine had insisted they have champagne all evening to celebrate, and Kurt had relented. "I want to read you a poem."

"I am far too drunk for poetry."

"You'll like it, I promise," he said, leaning down to pick a thin paperback off of the floor where he had placed it earlier.

"If you insist."

Blaine read.

"I have gone marking the atlas of your body  
with crosses of fire.  
My mouth went across: a spider, trying to hide.  
In you, behind you, timid, driven by thirst.

"Stories to tell you on this shore of evening,  
sad and gentle doll, so that you should not be sad.  
A swan, a tree, something far away and happy.  
The season of grapes, the ripe and fruitful season.

"I who lived in a harbour from which I loved you.  
The solitude crossed with dream and with silence.  
Penned up between the sea and sadness.  
Soundless, delirious, between two motionless gondoliers.

"Between the lips and the voice something goes dying.  
Something with the wings of a bird, something of anguish and oblivion.  
The way nets cannot hold water.  
My toy doll, only a few drops are left trembling.  
Even so, something sings in these fugitive words.  
Something sings, something climbs to my ravenous mouth.  
Oh to be able to celebrate you with all the words of joy.

"Sing, burn, flee, like a belfry at the hands of a madman.  
My sad tenderness, what comes over you all at once?  
When I have reached the most awesome and the coldest summit  
my heart closes like a nocturnal flower."

"Wow," Kurt breathed. Blaine smiled.

"Neruda," Blaine said. "Translated, of course."

"It's beautiful. It's _sad_."

"It's not so sad," Blaine objected, leaning in forward to kiss Kurt gently on the lips. "There's happiness, too."

"Blaine, you read me a poem about two lovers who are apart. That_ is_ sad."

"Not necessarily. _Even so, something sing_s," Blaine said, creating a lilting melody, a song out of the words, "_in these fugitive words. Something sings, something climbs to my ravenous mouth—_what?" Blaine paused, staring at Kurt's astonished expression.

"You can sing."

"Yes?"

"You _sing_, Blaine."

Blaine looked around the room for a moment. "…Yes?"

Kurt shook his head. "It's nothing," he said with a smile, and wrapped his arms around Blaine in the cooling water. "_I wish I could do this everyday_," he murmured into Blaine's hair.

.

.

.

They cuddled together underneath the sheets until they were warm enough to poke their heads above them and turn on the TV. Blaine put in the movie, and they slipped into a comfortable silence—for a time. Kurt had much to say about every other scene, and Blaine would sometimes begin reciting the dialog on Billy Crystal's lines, only for Kurt to pick up and finish on Meg Ryan's.

After the movie, they went downstairs to make popcorn while Kurt ravaged the hanging snacks basket for chunks of chocolate. Kurt laughed, leaning against the counter as Blaine told a joke about one of his classes back in college where the teacher would constantly show up so late that classes were canceled three weeks in a row. "So much for an ivy-league education," he had laughed. Kurt had regaled him in turn with the time one of his art school models had tripped over one of his garments on the runway and tore his dress. His eyes teared up with laughter. "It shouldn't be that funny—at the time I was absolutely_fuming_, but in retrospect…"

After Blaine rekindled the fire for the third and hopefully last time that day, the air swelled with warmth. The television, which was playing Ryan Seacrest's Rockin' Eve, was only background chatter to their conversations. They talked about the new musical artists playing that night, which they both had strong opinions about. This lead them back to high school, where Kurt enumerated all the times his old show choir coach would choose classic rock hit after classic rock hit to perform at competitions. "The man I think was also a little in love with Journey, to be honest." Blaine mentioned how his show choir competition group was governed by the students, who were all too happy to perform a capella top 40 musical selections at competitions. Which led to the realization that Blaine and Kurt had likely crossed paths several times in their lives for competitions, both being from Ohio, and in glee clubs.

They talked endlessly about their high school experiences, their friends, their teachers, the ups and the downs, as the snacks dwindled away. "Nearly time," Blaine had said.

They watched the ball drop on the television screen and watched as the crowds hugged through the confetti-filled streets of Times Square. "Happy New Year, Blaine," Kurt whispered.

"Happy New Year, Kurt." They clinked their glasses, and took a long sip, watching each other over the rim of their drinks while "Auld Lang Syne" signaled out the end of a year. The beginning of a new one.

After making out like teenagers, the alcohol making them just tipsy enough to giggle at every other moment, they lay down on the bed and curled up close, whispering secrets and new years resolutions they would never keep. Blaine told Kurt about how his father had intended for him to be a lawyer, how his brother hatched a crazy plan one day and invested money he didn't have in a farming venture of all things, convinced it would be great method-acting for a role he was interested in getting. How Blaine had found himself here, in Vermont, learning beekeeping, tree-tapping, jam making.

Kurt talked about his true motivations for going into fashion, how—as silly as the thought was—he believed he could turn all the ugliness in his life into beauty simply by creating something beautiful.

They spoke in soft tones about their lives late into the night, and just as Kurt felt himself drifting off, Blaine started to shift toward the edge of the bed.

Kurt was there, holding his hand, preventing him.

"I don't want you to sneak away in the night." He said. "I don't want to wake up and not find you there. I want you to stay with me. Don't leave me."

"I won't, I promise."

.

.

.

They managed, later in the week, to go and view the rest of the farm. Kurt saw the empty raised beds covered in glass where in just a few short months Blaine would be once again replanting herbs and spices, readying the gardens for spring.

Coming back from walking through the snow, cold and hungry, they ate and sipped cocoa in the sun room. After the holiday, Kurt was getting more and more business calls. But they didn't seem like such tedious work, in this place. He sat, curled against Blaine's chest near the fire, easily discussing the spring fashion photo shoot for the magazine and its subsequent feature in the upcoming issues, his own mind bubbling with ideas for some original designs. Blaine had watched Kurt chatter away, a smile on his face.

One afternoon Kurt had been consumed by an idea, and took to his drawing sheets, sitting by the glass doors to the deck, inspired by the birds at the feeder just outside. The birds that stayed through winter—the thought of making it through till spring, changing, surviving. He designed a dress first, with long sweeping lines. Not his usual style, but he was pleased at the end result. Then a men's suit, which he took great pleasure in creating. Usually he had himself in mind when he modeled the designs in his head. But today, his little sketch had dark hair and olive skin.

One night, Kurt and Blaine woke to find raccoons pillaging the bird feeders on the deck, making a racket, their glowing eyes illuminated in the darkness. "They're huge!" Kurt exclaimed. "Go! Go away! Go!" he yelled at them through the door. Blaine laughed.

"They're just hungry. But they're going to knock down the feeders." He grabbed the broom usually kept by the door.

"Are you going to hit them with that?" Kurt asked.

"Don't worry, I'm just going to scare them off."

There was no guarantee, after Blaine had shooed away the scavenging winter animals, that they wouldn't be back. But Blaine had retreated back into the warmth of the bed and pulled himself close to Kurt, feeling his heart beat.

"My hero," Kurt said.

.

.

.

Kurt chuckled to himself as he subtly licked the honey from his hand, in the crook between his index finger and thumb.

"What are you laughing at?" Blaine asked beside him. They were flat on their stomachs, propped up by a pillow each, their elbows pressed into the wood of the plant-filled loft floating above the bedroom. In front of them was a dessert tray—some sweet breads, but Kurt had wanted to do a taste-test of all _Anderson Farm's Sweet Boutique_ products, and Blaine had complied. They only had six of the most popular spreads out before them, their jar tops unscrewed, Blaine promising to make teas all afternoon tomorrow.

"Nothing," Kurt sighed, and there was something playful in his voice and the roll of his eyes as he looked over at Blaine that told Blaine there was more. Blaine nudged Kurt's shoulder, and the other man shrugged. "Just thinking about our first texts. What I said."

"What did you say?" Blaine asked, trying to recall Kurt's words from months ago.

"Something really ungentlemanly," he said with a smirk, "about your syrup. _Anderson's Thick Maple Honey_," he picked up the jar and pretended to read the label for emphasis. "It was very good."

"I hope it's still good," Blaine said.

"Mmm, _better_. Tastes much sweeter now when I lick it off my skin…" Kurt resisted the urge to blush at the silliness of his own words, knowing the effect would be worth it.

"_Oh_," Blaine said. He looked at Kurt, and then the jars. "Maybe you should try some more."

Kurt shook his head. "You."

"I already know what they taste like."

"I think you should try them again," Kurt had said, taking a dollop of jam from one of the jars and smearing it across Blaine's lips. Blaine smiled, and some of the jam caught on his teeth in the process. Kurt smiled and leaned in, taking Blaine's mouth with his, tonguing his bottom lip, then his upper, licking the jam clean off. Then he kissed Blaine full-on, letting his tongue sweep in, letting Blaine taste both Kurt and the sugar swirling in his mouth.

"You're right," Blaine said as Kurt pulled away. "I obviously need to reacquaint myself."

Kurt nodded in mock seriousness. "Definitely."

"Because this is important," Blaine continued.

"Absolutely," Kurt said.

"For business."

"For business," Kurt repeated.

Blaine moved, capturing Kurt's mouth. "I think you need to get naked," he growled.

"Your logic is _flawless_," Kurt said, breathless.

Untying the knot from his night robe, Kurt shrugged off the fabric, letting it fall from his shoulders, exposing his chest. Blaine worked to rid himself of his shirt and pants, making quick work of it as Kurt hurried to push down his pajama bottoms. Blaine fell on top of Kurt, kissing him desperately, his hands caressing any place he could reach. Kurt buried his hands in Blaine's hair, pulling his face closer, closer, closer.

"Push the pillows away," Blaine suggested, the unsaid _this could get messy_ lingering in the air. They did so, and Blaine moved to grab at the first thing his hands locate—the honey syrup. How appropriate.

Blaine hovered above Kurt, legs on either side of the naked man below him, the small lights of flickering candles dancing around them, the dark endless winter night outside blowing cold winds against the house. Kurt breathed.

"This is better than what I had imagined," he said, as Blaine placed two fingers into the jar and dribbled the thick sweetness onto Kurt's neck, chest, stomach.

"You imagined this?" Blaine asked, leaning down to mouth at Kurt's neck, sucking the syrup from it.

"_Ahh_, yes. The night I texted. Many nights ah-after. You licking syrup off of me. Fucking me. I got off to you so many—_god, Blaine_—so many times." Blaine groaned, already desperate with want, his cock hard and flushed where it rested against Kurt, Kurt's words only fueling the fire.

"I'm doing that right now."

"But…my daydreams weren't as beautiful as this."

Blaine pushed down onto Kurt, kissing him intensely, letting his mouth explore the other man's, tasting him and tasting him again with the sweetness of the night on his tongue. When he peeled away his own body was covered in maple and honey, and Kurt moved to lift himself off the floor, straddling Blaine as he sat in his lap, his legs hanging over Blaine's thighs, and leaned down to lick at Blaine's chest, mouthing at a nipple and making Blaine groan in pleasure and frustration.

Blaine reached between them and grabbed both their dicks, Kurt taking the hint and moving his hips up into Blaine's, the stickiness of the precum mixing with the dripping syrup.

"_Fuck_," Kurt sighed, his voice light and breathy against Blaine's ear, his hands thrown around the back of Blaine's head, holding himself in place.

"Do you want to come, Kurt?" Blaine asked, equally as strained.

"No, I…wanna wait. Fuck me, _please_, Blaine." Blaine growled, pulling Kurt back down to the floor and kissing him wildly, madly, Kurt this time above Blaine, their bodies pressed tightly together.

"I want to try something," Blaine said. "Lick me clean?"

"Absolutely," Kurt breathed.

"I'm going to lick you _open._"

The other man shivered. "Okay. Yes. _Yes_."

Blaine pulled another dollop from the jar and pressed it against Kurt's lips. "Kiss me?" he asked. When Kurt did so, Blaine reached around and grabbed Kurt's ass with one hand and smeared a thick trail of syrup down it with the other, rubbing the sweetness against the puckered hole. Kurt's mouth opened with the sensation of being touched and covered in the warm syrup. Blaine took the opportunity to invade the other man's mouth, moving his hips against Kurt's, as Kurt kissed him back with a fervor between his gasps, pushing down onto Blaine's fingers working his hole.

"Turn around," Blaine groaned.

When Kurt did, and Blaine felt Kurt's mouth softly sink onto his dick, Blaine cursed and grabbed Kurt's ass, lowering it to his face and burying himself inside Kurt's heat.

He could feel Kurt's mouth convulsing around his cock as Blaine licked the syrup away, swirling the taste around Kurt's asshole, pushing inside.

He began to fuck Kurt with his tongue as he heard the other man whimper and fumble around his aching cock. Kurt pulled off—"Oh GOD Blaine—_YES, _deeper, _fuck_…" he encouraged, pressing his ass down and allowing Blaine to take more, more, Kurt's hand curling around Blaine's dick, moving in measured strokes up and down, up and down—

"Kurt—too much," Blaine warned. He reached out with his clean(er) hand and procured the bottle of lube and condom from his pocket. He slipped the lube onto his fingers after handing Kurt a condom and asking him to open it and roll it on.

"Blaine?" Kurt said hesitantly. Blaine had slipped one finger inside and was slowly working to open Kurt up little by little, mesmerized by his own actions.

"Kurt? Are you okay?" Blaine asked, instantly nervous.

Kurt straightened up and turned over to look at Blaine, his face flushed. "You can say no. I was wondering if you would…I mean, I trust you…" It took only a moment for Blaine to make sense of Kurt's words before Kurt added, "I just need to really _feel_ you."

"Yes," Blaine said instantly. "I mean, Kurt I—I haven't…" he blushed. "I haven't even _been_ with anyone else for…" he laughed, "_quite_ a while now."

Kurt kissed him quickly. "Oh _God_, Blaine—me too. I don't care if it makes me sound pathetic or weird, but—just knowing you were out there…no one else compared. I couldn't…I couldn't be with anyone else…"

Blaine smiled. "I must have made quite the impression."

Kurt found Blaine's hand and weaved his fingers between Blaine's. "Don't get cocky. It might have just been my love for your _thick maple honey_."

"You _do_ seem to love my thick maple honey."

Kurt smiled. "I would hit you for that, but in this context it might seem a little kinky."

"Let's add that one to the list."

"Have I told you lately all your ideas are brilliant?"

"You might have mentioned something," Blaine grinned, pressing a lubed finger back into Kurt.

"_Oh_," Kurt said softly, his jaw dropping with the sensation.

"_God_, your face is _beautiful_," Blaine said in total awe.

"You need to—_ungh_—fuck me. Soon. Can't last much longer—" Blaine slid in another finger carefully, watching Kurt fall apart above him.

"Love watching you," he said.

"No, enough—ahh—I'm getting on. _Now_." Blaine slipped his fingers from Kurt.

"Are you sure?" Blaine asked, even as Kurt was easing Blaine back down to the floor, and moving to place a pillow back behind Blaine's head. "Thank you," he said.

"Such excellent bedroom manners," Kurt commented, holding Blaine's dick securely in his hands, lining it up with his ass and sinking carefully down onto Blaine, inch by inch by inch.

Blaine couldn't even respond, could only attempt to breath as Kurt sank down completely, arching his back and letting his head fall back to exhale a sigh into the air. Kurt looked back down at Blaine. "No witty remark?" he said with a grin.

"No," Blaine said dumbly, flatly. "Brain. Not functioning."

"That's a three syllable word. I think you're doing just…_fine_," Kurt said as he lifted himself off Blaine's cock only to slam back down, making Blaine mumble unintelligibly beneath him. "I think I'm doing better than you."

"How…are you…so good at this?" Blaine said, sounding parched.

"I've been—_god_—thinking of you, remember? Getting off…_touching_ myself. Imagining it was_ you_…the cute—_fuck!_—farmer's market boy…bending me over your stand…"

"_**Yes**_," Blaine grunted, lifting up his hips a little too eagerly, hitting Kurt just right, just right—

"Ahh—_**fuck**_, Blaine," Kurt said, shivering and grinding his ass down onto Blaine's hips, savoring the feeling, his hands gripping onto the pillow on either side of Blaine's head, Blaine's own hands guiding Kurt's hips, planted firmly at his waist, now holding Kurt down on him as Kurt moaned. "Bending me over, fucking me, fucking _pounding_ my ass…"

"Kurt, _Kurt_, god, _**please**_—" Blaine whimpered, his eyes slamming closed. Next time, next time. So many ideas for the list he was constantly adding to in his mind. So many new things he wanted to do to Kurt, to experience with him. So little time.

"More?" Kurt asked breathlessly, beginning his slow movements once again. Up. Down. Up…

"Fine, sure…whatever. You're going to _kill_ me…"

"Everyone would be there," Kurt continued seamlessly. "Everyone…shopping…" Oh _no_, if Kurt was going to do _this_, Blaine wasn't going to make it easy on him. His hand found Kurt's cock, warm and throbbing and twitching, and grasped it. "And you'd open me up _wide_, and everyone would watch…everyone would see…_OhGodBlaine_…" he heaved, leaning into Blaine's touch where Blaine's hand ran up and down along his shaft methodically, his thumb reaching over to massage the head in practiced, circular movements, making Kurt squirm against him.

"What then?" he provoked wickedly, a grin across his face. Kurt bit his lip.

"Uuhhn, then you would fuck me, fuck me in front of everyone and…and _GodBlaineI'mgonna—"_

But Blaine kept his pace, feeling himself reaching that point as Kurt came, shooting across Blaine's chest, the cum hitting his lip. Kurt opened his mouth, intending to apologize, but finding himself unable to speak. And Kurt refrained altogether, when Blaine began to fuck him faster, his cock twitching inside him as he licked his lips and groaned and _fuck_ if that wasn't the hottest thing Kurt had ever seen in his _life_—

And all too soon Blaine was coming into Kurt's ass, Kurt feeling Blaine's cock pulse inside his body as Kurt desperately moved against him, savoring the moment, the friction, his voice almost pleading for more as he said "It feels so good, Blaine. You feel _so fucking good_ inside me…_shit_. I _can't_—" his voice broke. "I don't want it to end."

Blaine found the back of Kurt's head and gently pulled him down to his lips, kissing him intently, promising him in that moment, without words, the world. Everything. Everything he had to give. "Kurt," he said, pulling away. "Just _kiss_ me." And they did, their bodies entwined for more than another hour afterward as they kissed and wrestled on the wood floor and kissed and cried and kissed and tried their very best to not say goodbye. Not yet.

But the week was nearly over.

.

.

.

They stood at the platform. Kurt had been intentionally distant all morning, preparing for the journey back. His mind felt muddled by Blaine, Blaine, _Blaine_. How was he ever supposed to leave this man? But obviously, he couldn't stay. Of course not. The magazine, his designs, the occasional off-broadway casting call…too much of his life was tied to a place several hours (several _lifetimes_) away from Blaine's world, between the green mountains.

And Blaine certainly couldn't just abandon everything and come to New York—what would he do? His life was here. His home. The place Kurt had come to love as well—dry heat, raccoons and all.

But he couldn't help feeling bitter, feeling like he had somehow been cheated out of something good. Something _real_.

Kurt's phone buzzed in his pocket. He reached for it and held himself opposite the stinging wind.

_Are you on the train yet? Are you settled? I need to tell you about the latest casting meltdown at the theater. I need your help, Kurt!_

"Who is it?" Blaine asked. He had been standing there, one of Kurt's suitcases by his side, feeling like a rebuked child. Kurt had been cool to him all morning. Blaine hadn't brought it up, though Kurt's intentional silence worried him. Blaine made small advances all morning: kissing him on the cheek, putting an arm around Kurt's waist as Kurt cracked eggs into the pan, smiling at him from across the bed as Kurt packed his clothes into his suitcase. But Kurt's walls held firm. He only got a tight smile in response, a few kind words. The passion—if any was left—was restrained, locked down and out of sight.

"Just Rachel. Another drama."

"Tell her I said 'hi'."

"I will," Kurt responded, putting his phone back into his pocket after punching out a hurried response. When he looked up at Blaine again, though, Blaine could see his facade slipping. Kurt swallowed and gnawed at his lip, fiddling with the identification tag on his luggage.

A train sounded off in the distance, and Kurt's head whipped around to see a train coming not too far down the tracks. He looked back at Blaine, his eyes desperate.

"Is it too soon to say what I really feel? Should I just keep it to myself for a while?" he said in a whisper, looking as if he might cry, his voice nearly carried away by the wind. Blaine rushed over to take Kurt in his arms, gripping him so tightly and securely so that Kurt would have no doubt as to _his_ feelings.

"Please don't keep _anything_ from me," Blaine said softly into his ear, his voice sounding as wretched as Kurt's.

Kurt pulled away, looking back at the train that was nearly at the station. "I've got to go. But…_I love you_," he said in a breath, giving a valiant attempt at a smile.

"I know," Blaine said. "I love you too."

Kurt's eyes closed—a momentary bliss washing over him as he sighed. "What are we going to _do_, Blaine?"

Blaine shrugged and shook his head sadly. "But we'll figure it out together. I promise." He took Kurt's hands in his, wondering when would be the next time they would get to stand together like this—spring? Summer? Too long. Always too long.

Kurt nodded, reading Blaine's mind. "I'll wait…however long I need to wait. I've been—this week—it's changed my _life_, Blaine. I'm sorry, and now—I'm out of time…" he said, watching the train enter the small station, just one track next to a lonely platform. "But—I'll always…_god_, why is this so hard to say?" he laughed in frustration. Blaine laughed too.

"All aboard!" the man opening one of the train doors exclaimed.

Kurt threw himself into Blaine's arms again, holding himself there. His heart thundered against his chest, wanting to escape. Wanting to _stay_.

"_I'm never saying goodbye to you_," Kurt cried, pulling away before he could do something terrible and beautiful and stupid and inspired, like decide to stay there in Blaine's arms forever and never let go.

"_I love you_," Blaine barely managed to get out, turning his face away and schooling his features, gripping onto Kurt's bag and dragging it to the train's open door, tossing it up to the man on the steps.

"I love you," Kurt leaned on his shoulder and whispered back, a serene smile now on his face.

And Blaine knew, somehow _knew_, that everything would be alright.


	3. Chapter 3

After Kurt had stepped off his train, back in the city, Rachel could see the red of his eyes and the sniffle in his nose and concluded correctly that he had not, in fact, caught a cold up in Vermont. He caught the mean, nasty, heartbreaking, wonderful virus called _falling in love._

"Oh, my Kurtie…" she had sighed, holding out her arms to bring him in close and hug him.

Kurt wanted to cry into her shoulder. "For a minute, I thought I might not get on the train."

"Well, wouldn't _that_ be a tad melodramatic? And that's coming from me!"

Kurt spent the next couple of months working, designing, and Skyping with Blaine. Though the other man was able to get away to the city for a few days in February, when the snows started to melt, more and more of Blaine's time was devoted to the farm and getting ready for spring.

"I really,_ really_ wish you were here," his small pixilated image said on one of their many Skype date nights.

Kurt sighed. "I _really_,_ really_ wish I was there, too." It seemed more and more Kurt was saying how he wished he could be back in Vermont with Blaine, rather than Blaine be in New York with him. But they never mentioned this, because Blaine knew that Kurt's dream was, and had always been, to live and work in New York City. He was living his dream—why would he change his whole life, just because he met a cute guy he liked?

.

.

.

Blaine spent too many nights staring at the fire after Kurt left, waiting for it to die down just so he could build it back up. It was a monotonous task—something predictable and ordinary and something that did not make him think of Kurt in the slightest—a welcome distraction.

But some nights, stoking the fire of the wood-stove downstairs, he would be reminded of that first night, Kurt exhausted and shivering above the sheets of the bed, sweat dried, skin too cooled and uncomfortable in the bitter hours of the morning. Blaine knew it was too hot. Why did Kurt have to insist on taking this room if he knew it would be too uncomfortable? He remembered pulling the covers up around the other man, ignoring—for the time being—the elegant planes of his back, the way they dipped just before the curve of his ass and—yes, now was _definitely_ not the time. He would not ogle his sleeping guest. Plus, he had work to do—it was 5:30, and he had to restart the fire, go down to greenhouse to check in, make a few phone calls, shovel snow off the walkway, restock the birdfeeders, clear off the deck, make breakfast, shower, shave, run down to the neighboring farm on the corner to get some fresh milk. And hopefully, by the time Kurt woke up, he would notice none of it.

Like that would help. Like Kurt wouldn't realize that what Blaine actually did—even now on his days off—was just grunt work. This wasn't lavish New York living. It was grungy and earthy and bitterly cold and dark. And when it was hot, it was too hot—too much. What was Blaine thinking, anyway? This wasn't a fairytale.

"What's going on, little bro?" Cooper answered that morning, Blaine leaning over the island table in the kitchen to scribble some notes down onto a notepad.

"It's late, what are you still doing up?"

"I'm an adult. I make my own schedule. What are _you_ doing up so _early_?"

Blaine sighed. "I get up this early _every_ day, Coop."

Cooper whistled. "Wow? Really? Glad _I_ didn't get into farming." Blaine grumbled at that. "But really, what's up? You never call me this early."

"I've been awake for a while, actually…I couldn't sleep."

"What's the trouble?"

Blaine paused, wondering what he should say. He had been keeping his relationship with Kurt—or whatever it was they were—on the down low for months. It was too soon—there was nothing to tell. They hadn't even kissed yet. Blaine blushed thinking about that. You can insinuate all you want in text messages and over the phone, but Blaine didn't know how to properly court someone as beautiful and interesting and funny as Kurt when he was face to face with the man. "Remember I said I had someone coming to stay this week, which is why I didn't join you in LA this year?"

"Yeah," Cooper said, clearly thinking nothing of it. Blaine always had friends passing through, from Blaine's college days, or Dalton, charmed by Blaine's quaint country life. It was a getaway for them.

"Well, he's here."

"Sleeping?"

"…yeah?"

"Well, fuck. Go back to bed. I doubt you'll be seeing him for another three hours at least."

Blaine rubbed his face tiredly and sighed. Explain to Cooper, or don't explain to Cooper? Isn't that always the question.

But no—there was nothing to tell. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

"Yeah—yeah, you're right. I should get some sleep. So should you. Get to bed."

"Fine, _mom_, I'll do just that."

.

.

.

Kurt's inspiration was renewed from his Vermont trip. Back at the magazine, his coworkers noticed his work ethic slipping but his ideas booming, blossoming out of thin air.

"Kurt, that's brilliant. We'll definitely use that in the issue!"

"How did you know to pair the pale pink with the sage green for the photoshoot? I was going for mint and then you just threw me through a loop!"

"_Are_ we going to see you actually take a look at those those pages this week, Hummel? Oh…whatever! As long as you keep pumping out those great ideas, right? We'll just toss these to the copyeditors."

He spent more and more of his nights that he didn't spend with Blaine on Skype at his work desk, drawing up new designs, coming up with new and breathtaking ideas—a personal collection of garments with all the spirit of a place he longed to go to again.

.

.

.

Kurt _did _visit again, and due to Blaine and Kurt's busy schedules, they had to wait till summer. Kurt was eager to see Blaine, to show him his new designs, to lavish affection upon the other man and kiss him senseless, to wake up to him in the mornings and make him breakfast, to help Blaine weed out the gardens, to learn how to beekeep, to make love to Blaine deep into the night, to curl up next to him in the cool evenings and watch junk tv, to sing loudly while they row out onto the pond, to go vintage furniture hunting and lawn sailin' and flea market going, to feed the chickens in the coop, to let Blaine chase him as he runs ahead down the sun-dappled paths in back of Blaine's home. And Blaine was just as eager to do all of these things, as well. They threw their arms around each other at the station when Kurt arrived and promised to do all these things and more, much more.

Kurt arrived in the twilight-dusk, tired, but they made love anyway, Kurt curling up onto the side of the bed he had now claimed as his own.

Blaine smiled at him as Kurt drifted to sleep, slowly allowing an idea to embed itself in his mind. That this could be it, and it could always be like this, if they wanted.

The next day, they fucked out on the grass, Kurt marveling at the beautiful weather. "Normally I would object to getting all this dirt in my hair," Kurt said as they wrestled, naked, on the ground.

"But you know we can just toss ourselves in the shower later. Although we should probably take our time in the shower, first."

"Stop thinking about having sex while we're _having sex_!" Kurt laughed underneath him, and it was the most radiant sound in the world.

"We're not having sex _yet_," Blaine corrected.

Kurt pulled Blaine down to meet his lips. "Then let's fix that. Now."

They both had their knees digging into the dirt within a matter of minutes, Kurt's palms pushing into the earth with every thrust from Blaine above him, sighing into Kurt's ear. Blaine reached around to grab Kurt's cock, lovingly stroking him to orgasm in the middle of a fairytale landscape—the flower garden. Bees buzzed around but harmed no one, and Blaine and Kurt were free to fuck each other senseless with just the humming creatures around them for company.

"God, _fuck_, Kurt—I'm gonna come," Blaine had growled into his ear, his hand picking up its pace on Kurt's cock.

Yes, completely isolated and alone. That is, until a voice rang out somewhere in front of them—"Mr. Anderson? Are you there?"

Apparently it was Hank, one of the groundskeepers Blaine had hired every summer for maintenance. (All this information Kurt had learned _after_ the fact, some time later after they had been caught red-handed in the middle of a garden.)

There was no way to un-see the things poor Hank had seen. And Blaine was coming just as the man had rounded the corner, a hose in one hand. Over-alls slung over a thin frame, dirty wife beater underneath. Boots covered in mud. And then there was Kurt, on the ground with this man's boss behind him and a hand on his cock, still working him to orgasm, while Blaine himself was caught in his own release, his face frozen in both ecstasy and panic, not quite sure what his body wanted to feel more in the moment.

"Ignore us! Ignore us! _Avert, Avert, Avert!_" Kurt called in a choked-off voice. Poor Hank appeared as if he had looked straight up at the sun and was blinded by it. His eyes screwed up tight and he winced as he stepped backward, turning to leave as quickly as possible.

"I'll come ba—_I'LL BE BACK LATER_," he corrected, sprinting off.

"Oh _god_, Blaine," Kurt said, embarrassed beyond everything, but Blaine started laughing behind him, still working Kurt over, still slightly hard himself and pushing in and out of Kurt steadily.

"C'mon. That doesn't remind you of your exhibitionist kink? Where I'd fuck you at the farmer's market?" He was growling again into Kurt's ear and Kurt moaned as Blaine's hand tightened around his cock, letting Blaine's words sink in finally.

"Fantasies are fantasies for a _reason_, Blaine!" Kurt croaked, but he was coming hard onto the ground now, overwhelmed with sensation and hot from embarrassment and tired from his own emotions. He wasn't talking about sex. This was something else.

Kurt was quiet afterward. Blaine pulled out and brought Kurt down to the ground, curling up behind him and spooning him, one hand on Kurt's waist, the other in his hair, petting the other man gently. "_This is real_," Blaine said, no louder than a whisper.

"I know that."

"No. You don't."

Kurt said nothing, and the two just lay there for several minutes. Kurt picked at the grass around them and felt the sun heating his shoulders. "Shouldn't we move? Won't others be around?"

"Sorry. There's just Hank this time of year, and he wasn't supposed to be here until one-thirty."

"_Eager_," Kurt said, trying to smile but somehow finding it difficult. Blaine couldn't see him just then, anyway.

When they dressed and walked back up to the house later, something had changed. Blaine knew he was losing Kurt, and losing him fast.

.

.

.

That evening, Blaine was holding Kurt in the tub after the whir of the jets quieted down and the only sound was the quiet of the early night around them—the last of the seasonal toads croaking, the crickets, the scattered chirping of birds. Kurt hummed contentedly against Blaine's chest. "Last time you were here," Blaine ventured, "you said _I wish I could do this everyday_."

"I said that?"

"You did."

"Well…_that_ doesn't make sense. I can't sit in a bathtub _every_ night. I'd be a prune! I can't rock that look."

Blaine pinched his side. "You know what I mean. Or, what _you_ meant."

Kurt worked his jaw for a moment, puzzling something out in his mind. "_Hmm_," he just sighed into Blaine. "Wouldn't that be nice?"

"It would. It would be _very_ nice."

"If I had a tub like this in my apartment, I would never leave."

Blaine leaned his head back against the wooden wall behind him. "You can have this tub."

Kurt chuckled tiredly. "I don't think that counts as carry-on luggage, Blaine." But Blaine was already was leaning to the side of the tub, reaching for something. "Are you going to read me our traditional bath time poem?" Kurt teased when he noticed the small book in Blaine's hands.

"Yes. Well, same guy, different poem." Blaine cleared his throat. "You ready?"

"I need to be prepared for a poem?"

"Yes," Blaine said, absolutely serious.

Kurt shifted in the water, gripping the edges to gain leverage and turning his body around completely so that they were on opposite ends of the tub. "Okay," Kurt said. "Ready."

Blaine held the book up and began to read, every so often meeting Kurt's eyes on some word or phrase he felt he needed Kurt to hear. To understand.

"_Here_ I love you.  
In the dark pines the wind disentangles itself.  
The moon glows like phosphorus on the vagrant waters.  
_Days, all one kind, go chasing each other_.

The snow unfurls in dancing figures.  
A silver gull slips down from the west.  
Sometimes a sail. High, high stars.

Oh the black cross of a ship.  
Alone.  
Sometimes I get up early and even my soul is wet.  
Far away the sea sounds and resounds.  
_This is a port._  
_Here I love you_.

Here I love you and the horizon hides you in vain.  
I love you still among these cold things.  
_Sometimes my kisses go on those heavy vessels_  
_that cross the sea towards no arrival._  
_I see myself forgotten like those old anchors._  
The piers sadden when the afternoon moors there.  
_**My life grows tired, hungry to no purpose.**_  
_**I love what I do not have. You are so far.**_  
My loathing wrestles with the slow twilights.  
But night comes and starts to sing to me.

The moon turns its clockwork dream.  
The biggest stars look at me with your eyes.  
And as I love you, the pines in the wind  
want to sing your name with their leaves of wire."

"Marry me, Kurt." There was a ring in his hand, held out as an offering, and Blaine's eyes held some immeasurable distance in their depths.

Kurt just stared at him, the emotional substance of the poem and its meaning almost slamming him harder than the request. But now, Blaine was putting everything on the table. Or, in the tub, as it were. "I'm sorry, I can't answer this question in a bathtub. There's a rubber duck staring at me over your shoulder," he said. It came out as a nervous mumble. He didn't look amused by their situation. He didn't smile. He didn't frown or sigh, either. Just stood up and grabbed his robe and threw it over his shoulders as he got out, tossing Blaine's in his direction.

"This wasn't romantic," Blaine said. It wasn't a question, but he was trying to work it out for himself aloud. Did he _really_ believe this was going to happen? No. He didn't. But only because he wasn't thinking about Kurt's reaction. All Blaine knew was that he needed to say it aloud. Make it an option. Make it something undeniable and _real_.

Kurt sat on the bed, looking down at his hands. Blaine fell to the floor next to him, taking Kurt's hands in his own and forcing the other man to finally look at him.

Pressing his lips into a thin smile, Kurt said softly, "maybe you shouldn't be on your knees."

Blaine shook his head. "No…_No_, I'm staying right here until you give me an answer. I don't care if my delivery wasn't—conventional or that romantic, but—"

"Of _course_ it was romantic," Kurt sighed, a slightly irritated tone to his voice. "No one's ever proposed to me before. After reading me a romantic poem. Naked, in a bath tub with candles and chocolate."

"I got points off for the rubber duck," Blaine frowned. "It's not even mine, it's Cooper's."

"I'm _so_ happy to know a grown man's toy duck made an appearance at our naked proposal." Kurt paused. "That has to be one of the weirdest things I've ever said."

"_Kurt_," Blaine prompted. "_Please_."

Kurt shook his head. "What do you want me to say here, Blaine? This is kind of a shock." But he thumbed the top of Blaine's hand where his hand gripped Blaine's, fitted together.

"_Well_, I have a _specific_ answer in mind I would really, _really_ like…"

"Okay, I get it. I know. But—Blaine. I…I _can't_ marry you."

The moment should have sliced through Blaine, should have cut him to the bone. Should have slammed him up against some invisible wall inside himself. But the words didn't have that effect on him. They had no effect at all, except that they made Kurt's eyes well up with tears.

Blaine stood up and leaned down to bring Kurt into his arms, enveloping him in a hug.

"No, Kurt. You _can_ marry me. You're just scared about what that means."

Kurt pulled away with an icy look and his brows furrowed. Blaine sat down next to him on the bed, confused.

"Blaine," Kurt said evenly. "We haven't even _discussed_ anything yet. How we'll live, the where and when and how. And yet we _both_ somehow know it's going to be me that changes my entire _life_ for this marriage, isn't it? I'm going to sacrifice _everything_ I have—my friends in New York, my apartment, my entire _career_, Blaine. I have _nothing_ here."

"Then—then stay in New York for now. I'm not kidnapping you and I'm not asking you to marry me tomorrow. If you're happy there, the _last_ thing I'd want is to make you do something that's going to make you unhappy."

"Are you saying _you _would be _happy_ with a long-distance marriage? Blaine, be realistic. We're _not_ a long-distance couple. We never were. We've just been pretending because we didn't want to loose each other."

Blaine felt desperate. His mouth was a little dry and even his hands were starting to sweat. "Look, we—we don't have to get married anytime soon and you don't even have to decide right away when things should happen. In fact, I wouldn't want you to worry about that. Just…please, Kurt. Take the ring. We can be engaged for _years_ until we figure it out—I don't care. I just need _you_." Kurt still looked both apologetic and deeply upset. "Unless," Blaine laughed bitterly, "you _do_ want to see other people and then…I can understand if you don't want to wear a ring. But if that's the case, Kurt? Maybe we should just break up."

Kurt should his head, whispering, "that isn't fair."

Blaine ran his hands through his wet curls, breathing heavily. He didn't want to fight with Kurt. This was supposed to be one of the most romantic nights of their lives. Why was it being ruined? He flinched when Kurt touched his knee. Suddenly the too-close sent of bodywash stung his eyes, and he pulled away.

"I'm sleeping downstairs," he mumbled finally, picking himself off the bed. Kurt grabbed at his sleeve.

"You said you wouldn't leave me."

Blaine looked at his bed, what he hoped would be _their_ bed. He knew what Kurt meant. Blaine had told him during that first night they slept together—_really_ slept together in the same bed—that they would never sleep apart when they were together.

But damn if that didn't give new meaning to "you made your bed, now lie in it." And Blaine was just _so_ _angry_, he wanted to say it. But he didn't.

He tried to smile, and that at least comforted Kurt enough to let go of his sleeve.

"We'll talk about it tomorrow, okay?"

"Wait!" Kurt exclaimed. He paused for a moment, thinking. "What about the raccoons?"

"It's not winter anymore, Kurt. They've found other places to eat food. They don't need the bird-feeders anymore. They won't bother you. I promise."

Kurt worked his jaw again, withholding, always withholding. "_Fine_," he said at last.

"Goodnight," Blaine said, and left.

.

.

.

Blaine didn't last the night.

Neither did Kurt.

They didn't speak a single word when Blaine came back upstairs later that night. He didn't check to see if Kurt was asleep or not as he crawled onto the bed and slammed his mouth down onto Kurt's, falling on top of the other man and grabbing at Kurt's clothes, pulling them down his lanky body.

Kurt did the same, the hunger and anger palpable in the air like a scent or a flavor. They clawed at each other until they were both naked and wretched with need. They breathed into each other for a few moments, and Blaine turned Kurt over so that Kurt was on top, and Blaine kissed him fiercely, biting Kurt's lower lip and digging his fingernails into his hips. Kurt moaned, bucking into Blaine's touch, his own hands finding their way to Blaine's chest, over nipples, scratching and then pinching and pulling and making Blaine moan into his mouth, the sounds echoing there like a cave.

Kurt broke the kiss then, reaching over far to the left and finding the lube at the bedside table, popping open the top. He let the substance sit on his fingers for a moment, allowing it to warm before raising one of Blaine's legs over his shoulder. Blaine didn't speak, but panted as he watched Kurt lube up his cock, and use the rest of the the oils on his fingers to press inside Blaine, working him open. Soon Blaine began to fuck himself down onto Kurt's fingers, needing that force of friction more than anything. Needing something he couldn't name but that only Kurt could give him.

Kurt aligned his cock up with Blaine's stretched hole and pressed inside without notice. Blaine cried softly and unevenly at the pressure, but otherwise remained silent. Kurt held both of Blaine's calves where they rested against his shoulders, gripping down tight as he slammed into Blaine roughly and listened as Blaine cried out but made no attempt to correct what Kurt was doing. He wanted this. They both did. _Needed_ it.

"_Unnh…unggh…uunngh…_" Kurt grunted at each time his cock slid, hot and full, into Blaine, feeling the other man clench around him, moving his hips down to allow Kurt to move closer, deeper, harder inside him. His hands gripped Kurt's ass, leaving marks that would definitely show up on his pale skin tomorrow.

Blaine _screamed_ then, into the completely quiet and pitch-dark room, as Kurt hit his prostate. Once. Twice. Three times. Fucking _four_ times.

Kurt read his mind, breaking the silence between them. "Don't come Blaine, not yet. Just take it."

"C-can't…"

"Take it. You want everything else. Just shut up and fucking _take it_." He continued to slam into Blaine, not holding anything back.

Kurt came first, and then Blaine allowed himself to orgasm quietly soon after, letting the come shoot over his chest and stomach as Kurt pulled out.

Kurt got up and walked over to the bathroom, but came back a moment later with a hand towel, tossing it to Blaine. Crawling onto the bed, he fell on his side a foot away from the other man, Kurt's back turned to him.

Cleaning himself off quickly, Blaine bit his lip, thinking hard about what he should do now. So much had changed between them.

Blaine leaned back down onto the bed after he'd finished, wondering to himself and staring at Kurt's back.

"Are you going to spoon me or not?" Kurt's muffled voice called.

Blaine shuffled closer, pulling the blankets up over the both of them, and nestled his head at the back of Kurt's neck, his hand holding steady at Kurt's hips until Kurt grabbed his hand and pulled it over to his chest, cradling it to his heart like a treasure.

"You're kind of a complicated guy," Blaine said, smiling for the first time that night.

"No I'm not. I've just never had anger sex before. I'm not sure what we're supposed to do now."

"Neither do I," Blaine said, planting a gentle kiss on the back of Kurt's neck, breathing into his skin. He felt Kurt inhale at the touch. It was so intimate, like foreplay, like they weren't just screwing each other senseless not five minutes ago.

Kurt pulled Blaine closer, his back flush against Blaine's chest, relaxing into him.

"And that doesn't make you want to stay here?" Blaine said, laughing softly.

Kurt sighed. "Not wanting to leave is kind of the problem."

.

.

.

Kurt ended up not taking Blaine's ring back home to New York. After that night, they didn't bring up Blaine's proposal again. It was in those days that followed that Blaine depressed over the fact Kurt loved him, but not enough to say yes. He tried to not let it show while Kurt was still on the farm. And though they eventually did everything Kurt wanted to do on his trip, it all felt slightly hollow, untrue, emptied of some lasting meaning.

Rachel met Kurt again at the station. "You always come home looking miserable," she said.

"That's because I'm coming home."

.

.

.

Blaine eventually started sending Kurt supplicating texts, asking for things he could never ask Kurt for in his own voice.

He begged Kurt to come back. He offered Kurt half of an office with a desk and drawing table. He came up with ideas for what Kurt could do in Vermont. Most of all, he kept pleading with Kurt to just say _yes_ to him, that that alone would help ease the pain of his absence, knowing that, somewhere, they were still tied to each other in some real way. The distance between them was too much, and—Kurt was right—they weren't really the long-distance sort of couple. But he could make it work, if only he was certain about Kurt's feelings.

And Kurt would text back long paragraphs, reiterating the same sentiments expressed to Blaine on his last trip.

**I just don't belong in Vermont, Blaine. That's your world, not mine. We're not the same people. Obviously you chose this life long ago, but my dream has ALWAYS been to live in New York. I can't give that up—I can't give up everything I am to be somebody else. I don't care if that's selfish of me—that's who I am, I guess. And maybe you didn't know that before but it's good that you're seeing it now.**

**While you still have time to change your mind.**

**…About me.**

_Go to bed, and call me in the morning when you're thinking straight._

_Because I will NEVER change my mind about you._

.

.

.

Fall came and went. Blaine made a few trips throughout the summer, and was down every weekend in September for the farmer's markets.

Those were the happiest days.

Blaine would stay at Rachel and Kurt's apartment, and Blaine got to meet Santana Lopez, who lived in SoHo, and Jesse St. James, who apparently was now dating Rachel. _Again_. "It's a long story," Kurt had said, never bothering to actually fill him in on it. Kurt would show him the magazine where he worked, as they walked past the building on Kurt's tour of the city, and pointed to the floor where his office was located.

They ate in Central Park on the grass, and enjoyed the early autumn air, and observed the people who passed by, guessing at their stories, their lives.

Blaine asked if Kurt wanted to stay at the magazine, work his way up to a top editing position. If that was his dream.

"My _dream_," Kurt had laughed. "I guess…my dream would be to start my own fashion culture magazine. There's just so many, though. I'd need a good concept. A niche. Something I can get passionate about. And I just don't have that yet. Maybe I never will."

.

.

.

Another winter came. It was so much more bitter when they parted that time, and Kurt boarded the train for home. Like the year before, but the "I-love-you's" were wounded with false hope.

"Not another poem, Blaine." Kurt said over the phone a month later, laying on his back in bed. "You're going to kill me with the poetry." He rubbed a hand over his tired face. But Blaine had already begun to read:

"Tonight I can write the saddest lines.

Write, for example, 'The night is starry  
and the stars are blue and shiver in the distance.'

The night wind revolves in the sky and sings.

Tonight I can write the saddest lines.  
I loved him, and sometimes he loved me too.

Through nights like this one I held him in my arms.  
I kissed him again and again under the endless sky.

He loved me, sometimes I loved him too.  
How could one not have loved his great still eyes.

Tonight I can write the saddest lines.  
To think that I do not have him. To feel that I have lost him.

To hear the immense night, still more immense without him.  
And the verse falls to the soul like dew to the pasture.

What does it matter that my love could not keep him.  
The night is starry and he is not with me.

This is all. In the distance someone is singing. In the distance.  
My soul is not satisfied that it has lost him.

My sight tries to find him as though to bring him closer.  
My heart looks for him, and he is not with me.

The same night whitening the same trees.  
We, of that time, are no longer the same.

I no longer love him, that's certain, but maybe I love him.  
Love is so short, forgetting is so long.

Because through nights like this one I held him in my arms,  
my soul is not satisfied that it has lost him.

Though this be the last pain that he makes me suffer  
and these the last verses that I write for him."

Kurt's eyes were screwed shut as he swallowed down on nothing. The room felt too warm, unbearable. It felt as if all the air was slowly being sucked from the room, life support being cut off. "Do you…still love me?" Kurt whispered unsteadily.

"I don't think I could ever _stop_ loving you, Kurt. As much as I think it would make things easier for me, for the both of us…I just don't think it's possible. Do you still love _me_?"

Kurt started to cry, but gave a few breathy laughs through the tears.

_Yes, of course, yes._


	4. Chapter 4

It was in the early spring when they had their first fight from a misunderstanding. Blaine didn't realize it was a misunderstanding at the time and called Cooper. He seemed out-of-breath. But his brother knew better.

"Blaine. Calm. Deep breaths," Cooper coached. "What's going on?"

"He's seeing someone else—he's _seeing someone else_…" Blaine managed, sounding rushed and slowed at the same time. He gripped his cell phone tighter in his hand and stared at the blank computer screen in front of him.

"What do you mean he's seeing someone else? Is Kurt _cheating_ on you?"

"I don't know, I don't know—I—I _saw_ him, Coop. He was tall and blonde and shirtless and he was just _walking_ around Kurt's apartment—"

"Whoa, whoa, _whoa_, partner. When did you visit Kurt?"

"I didn't," Blaine breathed. "We were Skyping. I saw it on my screen just now and—Coop, I _can't_. I can't do this anymore. He doesn't want to marry me, _ever_, wouldn't take my goddamn ring, and now he's got this…this _guy_, _whoever-the-fuck_, fucking _walking_around his apartment, asking him if he should make some coffee or something like they're so fucking _domestic_ and…" he trailed off. Cooper knew his brother was at his breaking point.

"…So many undapper cusses," Cooper tut-tuted, trying for levity. After letting Blaine calm down a moment, he asked: "So this guy. You know for sure he's sleeping with Kurt?"

Blaine sighed. "Not _definitively_, no. But it's pretty obvious, given the evidence."

"What about—what's her name—Rachel? Isn't she dating some new guy?"

"I've _met_ the new guy. That's not him. This would be a _new_ new guy."

"Maybe he's just a guest," Cooper said. "You know it could be he's related somehow, or that it's strictly platonic. You can rule out my theories any minute here, Blainers—like, how did Kurt explain him?"

Blaine paused. "I…kind of hung up on him."

"You hung up on him," Cooper repeated dully.

"…Yes."

"_Blaine_," Cooper said. "That's ridiculous. Coming from _this guy_, it's ridiculous. That should tell you something."

"You're pointing to yourself now, aren't you?"

"Well of course I am."

"Sure. You know I can't see you, right Coop?"

"Are you changing the subject? Do I need to fly to New Hampshire and give you a 5-minute noogie, squirt?"

"Yes, by all means, fly to _New Hampshire_, the state I don't live in. That won't be a waste of time."

"Don't get defensive, it was just a joke." Blaine huffed on the other line. "Please just go talk to Kurt. I'm sure he's freaking out because you hung up on him before he had a chance to explain."

"Or a chance to make up an elaborate excuse," Blaine muttered.

"Really, Blaine? You think Kurt would flat-out _lie to your face_ if you called him back, seeing what you've seen?" Silence. "Cooper knows best. Always remember that, little bro."

.

.

.

"No, no, no, no, _NO_!" Kurt yelled at his computer when Blaine's face had cut from the screen.

Sam stood frozen at the other end of the room, one hand gripping a box of cereal about to pour it into a bowl.

"So…everything alright?"

"No, everything is _not_ alright."

"What happened?"

"My idiot boyfriend heard you and must have seen you, too, made a snap judgment and hang up on me rather than talk to me like a rational person."

"Oh, dude, I'm sorry," Sam said, looking genuinely displeased with himself, as if _he_ were to blame.

"No, please, don't be sorry. This is in no way your fault." Kurt sighed. "We were having problems before now, so." He just shrugged.

"Problems?" Sam asked, interest piqued. But he shook it off after he said it. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to get into your personal life."

"It's alright. There's not much to it. He lives in Vermont—way upstate, I've told you. And I'm…here. It's annoying being long-distance."

"_Pshh_, tell me about it," Sam said with a smile, "Mercedes and I have a hard time with it too, sometimes, her being in LA and everything."

Kurt hadn't thought of that. "Must be tough," he said. Sam shrugged.

"We do what we can." Silent, Kurt smiled briefly, watching Sam fill up his bowl with cereal. "Did you want me to make that coffee, or…?"

"Yes, please. Coffee. Good. I need it today."

After Kurt had sipped a little on his coffee and Sam had pried out a little more information on Kurt and Blaine's relationship, the conversation started to flow.

"Why do you think it won't work?" Sam had asked after a little while.

"I'd have to change my whole life, Sam. Uproot everything. Leave New York. Do you know how long it took Rachel and I to find this apartment? And I would have to leave her without a roommate. And, I _have_ a job here. really good one. One that's pretty rigorous and doesn't prevent many excursions to idyllic paradises as it is."

"Well _is_ that really a bad thing? I mean, I thought you didn't really like your job. And you said you wanted to start a magazine. You could start that anywhere—do it remotely if you still wanted to base it in New York. I'm sure you could get someone here to do some of the work when it comes to printing and…whatever else is involved." Sam stopped, watching Kurt turn his cup around and around on the table.

"Love makes it work, Kurt," he said.

"Stop it, you sound like a Hallmark card."

Sam shrugged. "You know it's true."

Kurt huffed. "Apparently, I _don't_. Blaine thinks the reason I'm not wearing a ring right now is because I don't _love him enough_. He just doesn't understand…"

"But that's what this is about—right? I mean…correct me if I'm wrong. I don't really know that much about you and this Blaine guy, but…from what you've told me, I get the feeling it's not just about your job or New York."

Kurt bit his lip. No. He wasn't going to tell Sam, when he hasn't even shared this information with anyone else, not even Rachel…that he's scared. He's so _scared_. He's never been more frightened of anything in his life. At twenty-six, he's only ever had a couple of boyfriends, and though he's never had his heart broken, he sure knows what that looks like. But it isn't just the possibility of failure that worries him. Giving himself completely to another person, letting someone else get close to him—_really_ get close enough to him, to get under his skin? He's felt alone for so long, and it just felt so easy to live with that. Blaine made everything so _complicated_.

Afraid of change. He wanted to laugh. Isn't that what Blaine had said, when he proposed?_You're just scared about what that means._ Afraid of change. Of all the fears, his was the most cliché.

But he _was_ afraid. Of his feelings, how they came on so fast—he could swear he fell in love with Blaine the moment he saw him and that shouldn't have been possible…love at first sight wasn't _real_. He tried—oh, he tried—to convince himself it was just lust that made him desperate for Blaine to call him, after they met that day at the farmer's market. Lust. Sex. Things anyone can understand.

Love? He'd never been in love before. Not really. Not _this_ kind of love.

And it was absolutely _terrifying_.

But Blaine already had so much of Kurt. He had all of Kurt's love, his whole heart. Now he wanted everyone to know it. And for so long, it had been their secret—their something special. Just them and their own little world. Untouchable. It was precious and beautiful, their relationship. And now everything was going to change—if Kurt would let it.

But he couldn't. It was _too much._

"Hey Kurt," Sam said. "Thanks for letting me stay here, by the way. I can't believe my little brother is in college already. Time flies."

"It's absolutely no problem. Please feel free to stay over whenever he wants you to visit."

"I think you should…you know, call him back."

Kurt smiled. "Thanks for listening, Sam."

.

.

.

It was enough. Blaine had called back on Kurt's cell, furious with himself for just shutting Kurt out like that, and promising never to do it again. Kurt had in turn told Blaine about Sam, who was an old friend, completely straight, and happily engaged to one of his best friends. Blaine breathed a huge, ridiculously overblown sigh of relief. "I'm really sorry, Kurt."

"Please don't. I would have felt the same, if the situation were reversed."

"You wouldn't have _acted_ the same," Blaine said. He was beating himself up over this—probably had been for hours.

"Yeah, I probably wouldn't have acted the same…I would've been worse. Screaming, most likely. I wouldn't be able to stand the thought of you with someone else. At least you had the decency to hang up and cool off before calling back, if I really had done anything disreputable."

"Kurt…I hate this."

Kurt closed his eyes. "I hate it too," he said after a moment.

"You were right. You were _so_ right. We're not distance people. I, at least, have proven that I can't be without you. I'm kind of miserable here. It's like—whenever you leave you take a bit of my happiness with you."

"Oh come on, please don't say that—"

"But it's true, Kurt. I mean, everyday is beautiful here and I can only think—_it would be so much better if he were here_. But you're not. And I would wait for you, Kurt. I'd wait for years, and just spend that time fixing up the house and imagining my life with you here, everyday, like it's not some fantasy but reality. Something at least I know for sure is going to happen. That I'm not just…making this all up in my mind." Kurt was silent, and the man on the other line sighed. "I don't want to wake up and find you not there, either."

Kurt sat down in the plush chair, dizzy all of a sudden and needing to feel grounded. Neither spoke, feeling the weight of the silence between them.

"I'm sorry, Kurt." Blaine's voice was barely a whisper.

"Wait. You're not—can we _talk_ about this, please?"

"What have we been doing for the past year and a half, Kurt?" Blaine huffed. "No, this is better. Because I'm not saying we can't be friends, that we can't acknowledge each other's existence. I don't want that. It's not even an option. But I can't…I can't plan my life around something if I don't think it's ever gonna happen. I won't do that. I don't deserve that, and neither do you. Not if New York is where you're meant to be. Not if that's the life you want."

He had to know. Blaine seemed to know instinctively so many things about Kurt. Surely he'd figured out by now it wasn't just about his career. He'd already hinted he knew as much.

But Kurt couldn't correct him. Couldn't say anything, really. He had never been truly lost for words before, but it seemed like an appropriate time as any. Thoughts were racing through his head, but he couldn't make himself speak the words. He just breathed, hoping it would steady him.

This was it. It was over. Blaine was done with him.

.

.

.

It had been three months. Three long months. Of close to nothing.

Blaine would check in from time to time. Emails and texts, mostly. Kurt didn't have the heart to carry out much of a conversation. _What's the use if you're too chicken-shit to actually have a real relationship?_ He thought. _Don't lead him on._

But as time passed, Kurt realized how wrong, how terribly wrong, he had been about everything.

It almost seemed too simple. Kurt didn't need New York—of course he didn't. He was never going to be promoted at work and he didn't really care, either. It was just something to do. But he couldn't really be satisfied just doing _something_ for the rest of his life, or even for the next ten years, when there was a man who wanted him, that would probably drop everything and be with him, if he could. If Blaine could somehow sell the business.

But—Blaine couldn't. It wouldn't go for much—not now. Not after just five years into it. And, Blaine wouldn't say it, but he would miss Vermont and the life he'd made there. Kurt wouldn't blame him. His own life looked so empty compared to Blaine's.

Yes, Blaine _had_ wanted him. But it was too late now. Kurt didn't trust himself not to hurt Blaine again, to screw up. It was so easy being alone. But being with the man he loved complicated things in such a beautiful way…after a while, Kurt didn't know why he was ever so scared to say yes.

Some days, when he felt a bit more courageous, Kurt would call. It was weird to hear the dial tone, the voicemail. Blaine wasn't waiting around for him to call anymore. The thought stung.

"Kurt? What's up?" Blaine tried to keep the surprised tone from his voice when he answered. Kurt imagined Blaine running to his phone and immediately picking up after seeing Kurt's name light up the screen. Wishful thinking.

"Nothing much. I just had a free moment. Thought I'd call. See how you're doing."

"I'm fine. The season's in full swing, so I'm pretty busy myself. Just had the first farmer's market of the season. Though, up here depending on where you go, they're just _markets_."

Kurt laughed, missing his voice. Missing the easy jokes.

"Listen, this is fantastic timing," Blaine continued excitedly. "I was just about to send out invitations for this year's solstice party."

Kurt smiled. "That was really fun last year," he admitted. Kurt had fun helping Blaine plan it—setting up the hanging lantern lights and decorating the grounds. Last year had been stressful, but they were hopeful and happy about the fall, and Blaine being in New York every weekend.

Kurt bit his lip, thinking about September, and if he should stop by the farmer's market again. They were friends—right? Friends hung out. But the thought didn't thrill him like it once did. They weren't lovers anymore. But…maybe…

"It was. Thanks to you," Blaine said. "I mean, I know it's just a way to network and make an impression, but…I think it was a pretty fantastic party. I know…you're a little busy," he continued. "I don't expect you to help out like last year, but…I'm inviting Rachel plus one (sorry, I have no idea who she's with anymore – is she still with that Jesse guy?) and…I'd really like for you to be there, too. Will you come?"

Kurt tried to hide his grin, though he didn't need to. "I might be able to work it in. My ideas are really going over well at the magazine. They're not giving me such lousy assignments anymore. A bit more creative control also means a bit more control over my schedule."

"Excellent!" Blaine said. "I'll put you down then." He paused. "Should I…add someone else to the list?"

"Hmm?" Kurt asked distractedly, already picturing himself in Vermont, under the strung lantern lights, eating jam and listening to the dairy farmer's stories about their cows.

"Do you need a plus-one?" Blaine asked.

"Oh! Um…I don't think so?"

"Okay," Blaine said flatly, as if he were making a note on paper. Kurt wasn't able to read his emotion in just the one word. "You tell me when you know."

"Okay," Kurt repeated. He cleared his throat. "So how were the 'just markets'?"

"Good…good. Lots of people. It's not New York, but…people really turn out for fresh food. I've met some interesting locals. Got another number," he laughed. "One every season on average. Maybe if I trimmed my beard I'd look less scary," he joked.

Kurt wanted to laugh, but the sound died in his throat.

Blaine was meeting other people. Blaine was talking to other guys. Blaine was calling those other guys. Blaine was continuing with his life.

Blaine was forgetting him.

_Love is so short, forgetting is so long_.

He felt his chest constricting, but he willed himself not to cry. Especially not on the phone with Blaine, who seemed so pleased to be having a normal life.

"I'm glad you didn't scare too many people," he managed.

"Hey now, I can't really help it. There's only so many hands on the farm. Can't afford too many people on staff. Just me in the dirt all the time. I look a little rough these days. I am quite tan though."

"Farmer's tan?" Kurt joked. Blaine laughed.

"I've missed talking to you, Kurt."

He felt his heart beat, it seemed so much louder than he'd ever heard it before. He willed it to be silent. _Shh, Blaine will hear you. And he was just being nice. That's all. So shut up_. "It's been nice," Kurt responded.

"Nice…" Blaine said, trying the word out on his tongue like a flavor he didn't exactly agree with. "Yeah, it has."

"Maybe I'll call you again sometime." _Just let me hang up, let me go already…_

"You'll do me one better. I'll see you on the 20th, right?"

No. Kurt would not be going to the party. Not now. Not if Blaine was going to show up with some new guy. Even if he was alone, how would Kurt stand to know Blaine had moved on so quickly? He couldn't. Kurt had to let him go.

But he couldn't say that now. Blaine wouldn't let him off the phone. So he just said, "right," and they said their goodbyes. It was the first time Kurt had outright lied to him. He'd held back on his feelings and opinions before, but this wasn't reticence. It was a lie. He lied to his friend.

He would send an email, later. In a couple of days. It wouldn't mess up Blaine's plans, then, and he wouldn't be too disappointed when the day came and Kurt wasn't there. It was an almost perfect plan.

If it hadn't been for Rachel Berry.

.

.

.

"Are you not going to Blaine's solstice party?" Rachel's voice boomed as she walked through the door. Instant interrogation this evening, then.

"Probably not. If that's weird for you, I'm sorry. You're not obligated to go, and I don't care if you go without me. You'll have Jesse."

"Jesse and I broke up, Kurt. Please pay attention. And we're not talking about me."

"For once," Kurt muttered.

"I'm going to pretend that didn't happen, and continue being a loving, supportive friend by not storming out of this conversation." She put her hands on her hips, now looming over him. "Kurt, _Blaine_ said you're not answering his calls or texts."

Kurt just shrugged. He'd been trying to eat his dinner in peace, but apparently Rachel was having none of that tonight. She put a hand to her chest in alarm. "Kurt!"

"_What_, Rachel?"

"That man is in love with you!"

"He _was_ in love with me." He looked down at his half-eaten dinner. "He's not anymore."

Rachel heaved a great sigh. "You need to wake up, little boy."

"I am awake, Rachel!" he snapped, his fork dropping. "I don't live in a dream. Believe me, I wish I did. But its not that simple. So could you please get off my back, because Blaine and I will never be together. I'm pretty sure he's seeing someone else anyway, and I can't stand to be witness to that. Even being back in that state would just…I just _can't_, okay?"

Rachel opened her mouth to speak, but then snapped it shut, her eyebrows furrowing. She bit at her lip distractedly. She wanted to say something. She was preventing herself from saying something.

Good. Kurt didn't want to hear it anyway. He just wanted to be left alone.

"Then—clear your calendar," she said resolutely. "We're going to visit Mercedes."

Kurt's eyebrows raised, interested. "L.A.? She has the time?"

"Yes, L.A.! And yes, she let me know when she had free time last week."

Kurt looked confused. "Why didn't she tell me?"

"Well, she…" Rachel thought, "she wanted it to be a surprise. She was going to visit around the 20th. But I told her we were busy. Now—that's not the case. Unfortunately she might be a little busy now, but…we can still see her, and I think it would be a good idea to get off the east coast for a while."

Kurt thought about it. He really wanted to see his friend, and escaping to L.A., while not a particularly good decision for the long-term, was something he _needed_ to take advantage of. He needed to be distracted. His two best friends and a city to lose themselves in seemed like the perfect solution. And so he agreed.

.

.

.

"This is a plane to Burlington."

"This is a plane to Burlington," Rachel repeated nervously, with a smile on her face.

"_Why_ is this a plane to Burlington, Rachel?" Kurt asked at the terminal, speaking through gritted teeth.

Rachel slowly lifted her shoulders in a little shrug.

"_Give me the tickets, Rachel!" _he barked.

"No, Kurt." Kurt grabbed at her bag. "NO, KURT! _NO_! STOP!"

"Rachel, you're making a scene!" Kurt said, grabbing the papers from her bag and unfolding the contents. "What…" he breathed. "Why?" Rachel could see the hurt behind his eyes. He had been betrayed. It all felt so dramatic.

She grabbed the papers back from Kurt, his disbelieving face frozen in shock. "This is for your own good, Kurt. Trust me."

"Oh, I don't think I can trust you again, crazy lady," he said, picking up his carry-on from the ground.

"Kurt—don't leave. Please!" she called as Kurt was walking away. "I'll cry, I'll SCREAM!_PLEASE_ KURT!" Kurt stopped and turned, because he wouldn't be able to take another of Rachel's meltdowns. "I have good reasons," she said, calming down. "I get if you can't trust me, but I promise…" she paused, looking up into his eyes. "It'll be worth it," she nodded seriously, taking his bag from his hands. "Just come with me. You won't regret it."

"I'm already regretting it," Kurt said, resigned to his fate.

Rachel smiled. "You won't feel that way for long…" she mumbled under her breath.

.

.

.

Yes, Anderson Farms was gorgeous during the summer. Kurt had almost forgotten. He breathed in the deep, rich, green air. It was pleasantly warm, bordering on hot, but then again it was the late afternoon on the longest day of the year.

Plenty of people had parked in the decently-sized dirt lot off the main grounds, and were walking up the hill towards the house. Old ladies in sun hats, old men in cover-alls. Eccentrics and hipsters and blue-collar men and women all together for one event. Kurt could hear the festivities, shouts and laughter and music, starting up at the main house ahead of them, and Kurt's heart started skipping. He clutched Rachel's shoulder.

"I can't do this. I can't do this. Is the cabbie still here?"

"Kurt, _relax_. Please trust me. You can not trust me after today if you want, but for now, just do it."

Kurt tried to breathe. He was aware of how much he'd been sweating, wearing a button-down shirt and a vest, walking uphill in the hot afternoon, dragging his wheeled luggage behind him.

"Help you out with that?" Came a voice off to the side. Kurt turned. An incredibly handsome man approached them, grinning, pointing to their bags. "Blaine's put me on duty helping out the out-of-towners for the weekend," he explained, grabbing Kurt's and Rachel's shoulder bags. "I can take one of the suitcases, too?" he asked.

"You're very kind," Rachel said. "But we'll be fine." They walked up to the house, Kurt's chest throbbing with every step. Who was this guy? How did he know Blaine? He looked so out-of-place, so put-together and handsome. His hair was perfect, his skin was perfect. Kurt didn't know whether to be jealous or turned-on.

"So, you know Blaine?" Rachel said casually as they neared the house. Kurt could already see the masses of people swarming around the picnic area, the strings of colored lights strung like a canopy above them, waiting for dusk to be turned on.

The man snorted. "I know him _too_ _well_, if you ask me," the man said, winking at her, and then looking over at Kurt and sizing him up with his eyes as they stopped at the back door to the house, putting down the luggage.

Oh _God_—was this _him_? Mr. New Number? Kurt's mind was racing. Maybe he was an old boyfriend—Kurt didn't know. Blaine never really did talk about his romantic past, though he did mention, like Kurt, dating a couple other people in his past. No one seemed to measure up. But maybe…

"You must be Kurt," the man said softly, holding out his hand. Kurt's heart was sinking by the second, but he took it, and put a bright show smile on his face.

"Yes, that's right," he said, taking his hand. "Kurt Hummel."

"Pleased to meet you, Kurt. _Finally_," he laughed.

"_Finally_?" Kurt said, raising an eyebrow.

"COOP!" A familiar voice bellowed. Kurt turned, and for a moment all he could see or think or _sense_ was _Blaine_, running toward them at full speed, happy as Kurt hadn't seen him in a long while. Happier than Kurt could ever make him. "You found the New Yorkers!" he said, stopping just a foot short of them. He was covered in dirt and sweat, and he was grinning from ear to ear. "I'd hug you all, but…" He shrugged and gestured to himself.

"It's _really_ good to see you again, Blaine," Rachel said happily. _Too_ happy. Because, whatever Kurt had promised, he did not trust her _at all_ at this moment. This had been a terrible, awful idea.

"Of course I found them, I'm not an idiot! 'Short, cute brunette,'" he stated, pointing at Rachel, "and 'Handsome, fashionably-dressed man with startling blue eyes and—'" but the man was cut off by Blaine forcibly shoving at his arm, a look of embarrassment on his face.

"I swear you get more annoying every time I see you, and I have no idea how that can possibly be," he gritted. The man just laughed and threw his arm around Blaine for a side-hug.

"Eww—whoops! Forgot about the dirt," he said, letting go of him instantly.

"Did you even introduce yourself?" Blaine sighed.

"I need to _introduce_ myself?" the man balked, looking as if he couldn't believe what he was hearing. "They should know who I am!"

"Cooper…" Blaine warned.

Kurt was about to despair. He hadn't wanted to be thrown in the middle of…whatever this was. But then he heard the name, the full name, and everything clicked into place.

"Cooper _Anderson_," Kurt said, his jaw dropping just a bit.

"Now that's a reaction!" Cooper said, pleased.

"You're Blaine's older brother."

"Older, better-looking, more talented half-brother, you are correct." Blaine nudged him again and the man playfully punched him right back.

Brothers. They were brothers.

Kurt laughed. It seemed as if he'd just heard the funniest joke. Cooper frowned, and Blaine smiled wide at the sound. "What's so funny?" Blaine asked, crossing his arms.

Kurt waved it off. "Nothing…nothing. Flying always makes me a little tired."

Blaine's smile fell. "Oh! Of course—yeah, come in! You guys are here for the weekend, right? Leave your bags inside—Cooper'll drop you off at the B&B later."

"I will?" Blaine nudged him. "I will! Yes. I'm a taxi service as well as a butler today."

"You can put it on your resume," Blaine suggested.

.

.

.

Blaine went to clean off, and Kurt tried not to imagine Blaine in the shower, naked, washing off the dirt and the sweat from his skin after a long day preparing. Kurt was standing outside with Rachel, who was having a wonderful time chatting up anyone who would listen about her life in The Big Apple. Surprisingly, she found herself around Cooper for most of that afternoon. Kurt thought their similar personalities might make them butt heads. It hadn't worked out with Jesse, and Cooper seemed more straight-forward and blunt, maybe even a bit insensitive. But charming, that was for sure. Incredibly charming, when it came to the ladies. And it seemed as if Rachel had caught his eye. That was a strange development.

Kurt watched them interact with a curious fascination until Blaine rejoined him, standing off to the side with Kurt near the house. "They seem to have hit it off," he said. Turning to look at him, Blaine raised his glass to Kurt's. "To another good season," he said.

Kurt smiled softly, and clinked his glass. "Almost time for the lights," Kurt said, looking above him at the web of small strung lanterns. Blaine looked suddenly nervous, taking a long gulp of his drink.

"Is it really?"

"Don't you think?"

Blaine took another long sip, trying now not to look directly at Kurt. "Yeah, I think you're right. It's time." He stepped forward, clinking his glass for a few moments and allowing the attention of the crowd to turn in his direction.

"Will everyone please make their way over here? I'm turning on the lights!"

The crowd cheered, and started to press in a little bit closer, making a large circle around the area. Kurt looked around at all the faces uncomfortably. "I think I'll just…sneak into this circle over here," he said in Blaine's ear, not wanting to draw attention to himself.

But Blaine caught his arm. "No—stay?" he asked. But Kurt wouldn't have said no, not to that face.

They stood and waited for more people to show up. It ended up being a pretty thick ring—there was quite the crowd there that year, it seemed.

"So," Blaine said, loudly for everyone to hear. "Thank you all for coming. Hope you've enjoyed the food!" Laughter from the party-goers. "It's been a tradition here at the farm to throw a party every summer solstice. Mainly because there's not a lot to do here in the summer other than waiting for things to get done growing—" more laughter, "and also because, I feel like we're a family here. We all depend on each other—and the weather—to survive. Over these past few years, I feel like I've really found my home here, with all of you. And, that means something to me. You made me feel welcome, and I thank you.

"Like every year, I turn on the lights when it starts getting dark. It's the longest day of the year, and this is just a little reminder that it doesn't have to end as soon as we think it does," he turned to Kurt, a gentle smile on his face. It was a similar speech to last year…but different, somehow. Kurt's brows knitted watching him.

Blaine went over to the side of the house and flicked a switch. Everyone 'ooh'-ed at the lights above them. There was some loose chatter, but after a moment, something happened. Some of the party-goers that must have been at the back of the group were coming forward.

Artie and his chair were immediately noticeable, as the crowd parted considerably for him. Mercedes was just behind him. Kurt's jaw dropped. His mind tried to think of an explanation quickly—L.A. They both lived in L.A. Cooper lived in L.A. They shared a flight?

But all too quick, Kurt had to remember how to breathe. Quinn appeared from the masses, and Puck. Sam, Tina and Mike. Santana and Brittany. Amanda and Charlize from college. Amber from the magazine. And, even Finn. Kurt looked in Rachel's direction—this must have been her secret, her "trust me," but he still couldn't figure it out. She just smiled brightly, however, and pointed back in Finn's direction. Kurt turned, and nearly stopped dead.

It was his father and Carole, holding each other's arms and smiling out at the group, giving a little wave at Kurt happily. His father looked…like he was trying not to cry.

Suddenly, Kurt knew. His heart thudded unbearably in his chest as he whipped around to look at Blaine.

He looked wonderful that evening, Kurt was surprised he didn't notice before. A fitted back evening jacket, light and undone in the front, a pale pink button-down underneath, black slacks with shoes and no socks, suspenders and a bowtie. His curly hair was slicked back and styled. He looked beautiful. And now he was smiling at Kurt and reaching in his pocket…

Kurt's hand came up to his mouth instinctively, covering it.

Blaine cleared his throat. "I didn't get to do this right the first time," he said to the audience, and dropped to one knee.

"_Oh my god, Blaine_…" Kurt said softly though his muffled hand, not trusting himself to remove it.

"Kurt Hummel," Blaine said, looking up into Kurt's unbelieving face, speaking loud enough for all to hear. "You are everything." He paused. "_Everything_." He opened the box. "Please. Be everything with me?"

Kurt couldn't form words. There were no words. Yes was far too simple an answer, but it would have to do. "_Yes_," he whispered, nodding his head vigorously. Blaine jumped from the ground and threw his arms around Kurt, just holding him for a long moment while the crowds around them shouted and clapped and catcalled…but it was all very distant. It seemed secondary. Unreal. And now that Kurt was finally holding Blaine in his arms again, he realized _this_ was the only thing that had ever felt real to him. Just them.

They kissed, both too close to tears to do more than press their lips tightly together, but it was enough. Blaine had taken the ring from the box, excitedly pushing the ring onto Kurt's finger. He pulled out another ring from the box. "If you wanted…" Blaine said just to him.

"I do." Kurt laughed at the words. "I mean I want to say something." He fell to one knee and took Blaine's hand. "Blaine Anderson," he said clearly—quite a task, now that his voice had become rather hoarse with emotion. "I desperately love you. I'm only sorry it took me so long to see that…" he shrugged, trying to keep from crying, "that was all that mattered."

The crowds cheered again as Kurt pushed the other ring onto Blaine's hand, and they hugged again, longer this time, just holding each other.

"Alright, enough of this cute sappiness, it's time to dance!" Puck called out, and after a moment the music started up and broke the group apart.

"May I have this dance?" Kurt asked gleefully.

"It's yours," Blaine sighed.

.

.

.

After Kurt had made the rounds a little later, greeting his friends and hugging his father and receiving congratulations from everyone at the party, he and Blaine danced more under the lights in the cool summer night.

"That jacket was a good idea," Kurt said, his arms around Blaine's neck and body pressed into him enough to share his body heat.

"Are you cold? I could get you something."

"You don't think I brought my own jacket? Blaine, I packed for L.A." he joked. "No, I'm fine, really. You're keeping me plenty warm." Blaine kissed him happily. "What was that for?" he laughed.

Blaine shrugged. "There's no reason."

They danced in silence to the slow beat. "How did you get everyone here?"

"A lot of planning. The fist step, of course, was contacting your dad and asking his blessing."

Kurt pulled back to look at the expression on his fiance's face. "You didn't."

But Blaine just laughed. "Of course I did. I had to talk to him and meet him at least, before I proposed to his son. Didn't I?"

"You are something else, Mr. Anderson."

"Kurt? Shut up and kiss me."

And he did.


	5. Epilogue

There never had been a more perfect day in the life of Kurt Hummel. Blaine Anderson would have to agree with that sentiment as well.

On a sprawling field still covered in green despite the lateness of the season, overlooking a most spectacular view of distant mountains, they wed. Cooper decided he wanted to jump through the necessary hoops to officiate the ceremony, which Blaine had—very reluctantly—let him do. Cooper preformed his role with great enthusiasm, even tearing up for his audience a little as he spoke.

The large tent kept out the rain when the small spell of cloud passed over, the sound of pelting rain humming against the plastic walls.

They were eating their cake at the time, and Kurt leaned in to grumble, "We'll never make it out of here with our shoes intact. I'm sure the mud's a foot deep by now."

"Oh shush. It's already stopped raining. And rain on your wedding day is lucky, remember?"

"How can I not? But, tell me something, Blaine. Is it still considered lucky when you plan the wedding on a rainy day?"

"I don't see why not," Blaine smiled. "And I'm not taking any chances."

"It's a good thing you're so great at predicting the weather."

"I'm just lucky the Farmer's Almanac is so reliable you can plan the weather six months in advance."

"And I've been meaning to ask all evening: what is a 'flatlander' and how can I rid myself of what is surely a terrible stereotype? I can't help my geographical heritage, Blaine."

His husband laughed. "You'll get used to it."

"I'll always be 'the city boy' up here, won't I?"

Blaine smirked. "Let's just say this: Arthur and his wife?" He nodded his head in the direction of the older couple currently being served dessert. "Arthur moved here 50years ago, from Maine, even. And he's still a 'flatlander.'"

"That makes no sense."

Blaine shrugged. "You're right."

"If I die in Vermont, do I earn some credit? Can they finally call me a Vermonter?" Kurt asked, a smirk pulling at his expression.

Blaine put an arm around his husband. "We'll see."

.

.

.

It's been two years since that summer Blaine proposed. There still had been a lot to square away, and Kurt had—on top of everything—a wedding to plan. And it had to be done right. Of course.

But when Kurt returned to New York after the solstice party feeling empty and yet so, so excited and hopeful for the future, he wanted to get on top of things right away. And suddenly, he just knew what he had to do. Suddenly, it was the only logical thing he coulddo. He quit his job, after giving his notice and planning his next steps with his own project—something that had been stewing in his creative mind for quite a while.

It almost seemed to good to be true—though Kurt must have known he put together a great team to make sure it was a success—that even the first issue of the magazine sold much better than anticipated. Kurt held his breath over the next issue, and the next—and while the numbers did indeed change, they only grew. Readership increased, interest swelled and buzz circulated about Antoinette's Pastoral: Fashion Meets Farming. It was a thick quarterly production—which was good, because Kurt could maintain quality control of the stories and essays published, not to mention the ads, the reviews, and—of course—the fashion.

The natural and the artificial, the gritty and the sophisticated—all weaved through each page and article. "High Fashion Country Living," was promised in one issue, the next boasted "Gourmet Countryside Finds" and "What To Wear When You Have Nothing To Wear: Resourceful Tips and Tricks for Looking Good On A Budget." Even the runways of Paris promised couture fashions that were sure to trend in the following years—hair full to the brim full of roses, long dresses that moved with the wind, the return of suspender fashion, for women and men, romantic visions of a better life.

Things hadn't been very easy for Blaine. Though it seemed that he loved the business, and the daily tasks that kept his hands busy and the business going, he just didn't have the heart for it. When Kurt finally moved his stuff out of his old apartment and set up in the study big enough for two at the house, Blaine started to draw again, inspired by Kurt's enthusiasm with his magazine.

From there, he proceeded to get even more lost. Which was, as Kurt would point out, an excellent location for one to find oneself again.

Then one day Blaine went missing.

Luckily, Kurt found him at the back of the house, near the woodpile by the sliding-glass doors.

"I've been looking for you for an hour, Blaine. An hour. I even went down to the pond and walked around. Did you want me to make the risotto tonight or not?" The other man whipped his head up from where he had bent over his work, sitting cross-legged on the cool ground. "What is that?"

"It's, um…"

The wood had been carved meticulously—in fact, it looked nearly complete. "Is that…a bust? Of me?"

"Maybe," he said, playing coy.

Kurt knelt down to inspect it further, his brows drawing up in concentration. Blaine angled the piece in his direction, trying to keep the look of pride—a small little smile and dancing, delighted eyes—off his face. "It is," Kurt whispered. "It looks just like me. Blaine, this is amazing. I should have known when I saw your drawings, but…Blaine!"

Blaine put his hands to his face, blushing in happy embarrassment. "Kurt, if you keep saying my name, you'll drive me crazy—"

"This is it! This is what you should do."

"What should I do?" he asked, laughing in confusion.

"Sculpt! Draw! Paint! Whatever! You're an artist, Blaine! A real artist."

"Oh god, I am not!"

Kurt turned and brought his fiance's hands down from his face. "Yes," he said, "you are."

"That's not a living, Kurt," Blaine said slowly, perhaps a bit sadly.

"Who are you, your father?" Kurt scoffed. "Sweetheart. The magazine has started off with a bang and I'm…optimistic. I really am. And I'm not saying you should give up the farm—not at all. I think you genuinely enjoy it. But pretending this isn't something you love? That doesn't sit right with me. I just can't be with someone who can ignore such a beautiful and obvious talent."

Blaine bit his lip, seriously considering Kurt's words. He sighed. "What am I supposed to do?"

"Just create. Just make. Just do. I don't want to say 'hobby' because I don't want to make it sound like something that merely amuses you. I want you to just…move in this direction, you know? Work toward this. Everything else is secondary. You're fantastic, Blaine—I'm sure you have a million ideas in that head of yours."

Blaine was silent for a moment, but then shrugged and conceded. "I may have one idea."

Kurt smiled and cupped Blaine's face so that the other man's eyes flew to his. "Perfect," Kurt said, leaning in to press a kiss to his lips. "Now get inside and help me make dinner."

.

.

.

For their honeymoon they had scrimped and and saved for a whirlwind adventure—a two-week tour of Europe.

But that first night, too tired from dancing and singing and enjoying time spent with friends and family, they decided to crash early, falling on top of one another on the bed at 2 am, still a little tipsy as the wine started to fade to distant memory.

They laughed as they lazily pulled at each other's clothes, attempting something they both weren't sure they could accomplish, tired as they were, but playing at it anyway. They kissed and mumbled sweet-nothing's into each other's necks, calling each other 'Mr. Hummel-Anderson' and giggling some more.

But when Kurt tried to reach for the covers by the pillows to turn them down and crawl in, Blaine pounced with a reserve of energy Kurt had no idea was still possible considering the late hour, how much alcohol they consumed and how much their muscles were already worn down from the several hours of dancing they did at the reception.

"And what do you think you're doing, Mr. Hummel-Anderson?"

"Well, Mr. Hummel-Anderson, I thought I'd have dirty, raunchy, passionate, crazy sex with my beautiful husband tonight." He tried to sound suave and seductive, but Kurt's frame started to rock with a wheezing laugh that crawled through his body and left him spasming with giggles, still held in Blaine's arms. "Wow, way to make a guy feel sexy," Blaine said, mock-injured.

But Kurt just continued to titter, trying to suppress it as he said, "no, no, let me just get the lube…" but then he just broke out into full-blown fit of guffaws, falling back onto the bed and clawing at the sheets.

"What is the matter with you? I've never seen you so giggly from just wine!" Blaine remarked, but he was smiling at Kurt's hysterical giddiness all the same.

"Ooooh my god," Kurt said, catching his breath. "This is all Puck's fault. Those damn brownies…they were so good."

"You ate Puck's pot brownies? But you knew they weren't just brownies."

Kurt hummed a little laugh in his throat. "But they just looked so appetizing, darling. I just had to partake."

"And now you're flying high as a kite?" Blaine asked.

Kurt smiled angelically up at him. "Maaaayyybe."

Blaine sighed contentedly. "How about…we take a bath, hmm? And then hit the hay. You're still not finished packing and I know that's gonna take you, like, at least three hours tomorrow to decide what you're wearing on the plane—"

"Oh, shush!" Kurt said, waving his hand in front of his husband's head. "Just…shhhh. Shhhhhh! Your face is saying too many things right now. I need it to be quiet," he said, his fingers finding Blaine's lips and pinching them shut. "Good. Nice n' quiet."

Blaine mumbled around Kurt's hold but made no attempt to remove Kurt's fingers from his face.

After a moment, Kurt's hand dropped away, a smile on his face as his eyelids fluttered closed.

Blaine smiled, and hopped off the bed to start the tub.

.

.

.

Kurt felt like he was floating on a warm current of air, as pleasure coursed through his body, his muscles loose and comfortable.

It was his own startled breath that woke him to find Blaine sitting in the tub, straddling Kurt, as he slowly pumped Kurt's thickening cock under the water. It was a slow start, but god did it feel so, so good. Blaine just smiled down at him gleefully. Kurt groaned. "Are you taking advantage of me?" he asked in a strangled whimper.

"Absolutely," Blaine laughed, making the water pool upwards around them as he lowered himself down into the water and closer to Kurt, kissing him softly. "Am I doing a good job?" he asked, letting go of Kurt and instead letting some of his weight fall onto his husband, pressing his cock against Kurt's and moving his hips slowly under the water against him.

Kurt moaned, reaching around Blaine to grab at his ass, pushing Blaine and his hips closer.

They rocked together for several long minutes, their groans and the water splashing around them as they moved were the only sounds.

After they had come, Kurt wrinkled his nose at the water around them. "Well, this was indecent. I'll have to take another shower tomorrow."

"But for now," Blaine said, "let's just get some sleep."

.

.

.

"When did you fall in love with me?" Kurt asked.

They were laying in bed, tired, but not yet asleep, holding each other under the soft cotton covers.

"The first time you stepped off the train, that first winter." Blaine said softly. "It was the first time I had seen you for months, after talking to you every week since we met. And finally seeing you here…made everything real for me. It all just—clicked into place. And then at the end of the trip, I didn't want you to leave," he laughed. "And you?"

"The very moment I saw you." Kurt sighed. He could almost see Blaine smile wamly at his response even in the darkness. "Love at first sight," Kurt confessed, shrugging. "I didn't want to admit it to myself for a very, very long time. I didn't think it existed, until I met you."

"Well, lucky for me it did, right?" Blaine whispered, a bit of playful smugness in his tone.

"Oh, just shut up and kiss me. Idiot."

And he did.


End file.
